


Rising Power

by Clowns_or_Midgets, Jadeys_World



Series: For Your Life [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam Winchester's Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-02-23 09:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 76,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23475757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadeys_World/pseuds/Jadeys_World
Summary: Sam is broken The woman he loved and thought had been returned to him was a trick, she's gone, and the grief he'd been fighting has finally hit. Struggling to get through day by day for his family, he goes to stay with Pastor Jim. Thanks to a secret Jim has been keeping for over twenty years, Sam's world is going to be upended all over again. He needs to learn to fight back.
Series: For Your Life [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1424305
Comments: 29
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

A shout ripped Dean from sleep, and he bolted out of bed and stared around the room, his hands curled into fists and his heart racing. He was poised to defend or attack, whichever was needed, but there was no one there. The only activity in the room was Sam tossing and turning under his blankets.

He realized what had happened as Sam cried out again. “Jess!”

It was not the first time it had happened, and Dean was sure it wouldn’t be the last. It wasn’t even the first time that night; Sam had woken him in the early hours as he shouted his way through a nightmare.

Dean’s fisted hands relaxed, and he rubbed them over his face, weariness making the movements slow and uncoordinated. He was exhausted. In the two weeks since they’d arrived home after bringing Sam back from Sacramento, the nights had all passed like this.

It wasn’t just the nights that wore Dean down though. There was only so much time he could spend watching his brother suffer before he started to break, too, and hiding that took all his remaining energy.

They had all known that when the grief finally hit Sam it was going to be bad, but Dean had not imagined this. Sam’s nightmares were probably the easiest part of it to handle. It was during the day when Sam could not or would not accept comfort that it was hardest.

“No, Clark, don’t! No! Jess!”

Dean closed his eyes a moment and then crossed the room to his brother’s side and shook his shoulder. “Wake up, Sam. You’re having a nightmare.”

Sam jostled but did not wake, and with a heavy heart, Dean shook him again, digging his fingers into Sam’s flesh.

Sam’s eyes flew open and roved the room. “Jess?”

Dean released him, knowing the touch was unwanted now he was awake to feel it, swallowed down his own feelings about that, and said, “No, Sammy. It’s just me.”

Sam looked at him, his eyes confused, and murmured, “Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m here. You okay?”

Sam blinked up at him for a moment, his pain showing in the tense set of his jaw and wet eyes, and then he swung his legs around to the edge of the bed and sat up.

“I’m fine.”

Dean had expected the answer; it was the one that he always got now, and he hated it. He wanted to help. “You want first shower?” he asked, grappling for something normal to take away the stress of what had passed.

“No, you go ahead.”

Dean watched him for a moment, wondering if there was some form of comfort he could offer that would work where none had before, but he couldn’t think of anything. Sam never wanted to talk about it, he didn’t want to be touched, he didn’t want their words of assurance.

He took clean clothes from the dresser and carried them through to the bathroom with murmured over his shoulder to Sam, “I won’t take long.”

Sam made no response, and Dean didn’t look back to see if his words had penetrated Sam’s thoughts. They probably hadn’t; they rarely did. If the pattern of the past weeks held, Sam would want space now to work through his pain alone. Not that it ever seemed to help him.

In the bathroom, Dean set the shower to running and used the toilet while the water temperature regulated itself. The plumbing in the farmhouse was old and you had to deal with its contrary ways if you weren’t willing to be scalded or frozen by rushing. When the water was right, Dean stripped off his clothes and stepped under it, letting it loosen his tense muscles and wash away the last of his drowsiness after another broken night’s sleep.

He shampooed his hair and soaped up, making the movements slow so as to give himself a little time before going back to the bedroom where Sam would probably still be sitting on the edge of his bed, lost in his pain. That would be hard to deal with but familiar. What was perhaps worse was going downstairs and reporting to his mother and Bobby that they’d had yet another restless night. Mary always seemed so hopeful that things would be better. Dean understood it, she was wishing for improvement, but he felt like an asshole when he had to disappoint her again.

When he was clean and feeling that it would be unfair to deny Sam the use of the shower any longer, he shut off the water and stepped out. He dried himself off roughly and ran a cursory towel through his hair then dressed and picked up his dirty clothes from the floor and carried them out of the bathroom and into their bedroom.

Sam was gone when he got back to their room, and their beds had been neatly made. That was unexpected as Sam usually drifted through the days, not seeming to be aware of what was really happening around him.

Feeling slightly bolstered, maybe Sam was going to be doing a little better today, he sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled on socks and boots then straightened the blanket and walked to the stairs and down.

He was only halfway down when he smelled the smoke, and he hurried his pace, jogging into the kitchen where Sam stood at the counter, his hands gripping the side and his head bowed. There was a skillet on the stove that smoke was rising from and fat was spitting. Dean knew it was about to catch fire at any moment.

With a gasp of his brother’s name, Dean shoved him aside and grabbed the handle of the pan, feeling the heat that had transferred into the wooden handle, and took it from the heat and put it down in the sink. From the charred strips in the pan, Dean thought Sam had been trying to cook bacon.

“You could have burned the house down!” Dean said, the words coming harsher than he had intended.

“I was trying to help.”

Feeling like an asshole, Dean flipped off the heat and opened a window to let out the smoke that was drifting around them. The icy air from outside flooded in, and Dean saw Sam shiver.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “You just caught me off guard. I’m not pissed.”

Sam shrugged. “Okay.”

Dean sighed a rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not. I’ll fix you some bacon in a minute.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then why were you cooking?”

“I wanted to help,” Sam said. “I figured you’d be hungry.”

Dean stared into his eyes, seeing the confusion there, and he felt a wave of pity for his brother that was separate to what he had been feeling for months. This was Sam trying, and it had gone so wrong because his head wasn’t all the way with them still. It couldn’t be. Sam was still too lost in grief.

“I’ll go shower,” Sam said, walking to the door.

“Sammy, wait! Just talk to me for a moment.”

Sam stopped and turned back, his brow furrowed.

“Look, we don’t need this,” Dean said. “You trying to help, I mean. We can take care of ourselves. It’s you that we want to help. I know you can’t talk about it yet, and I understand, but you have to tell us what to do for you. We can’t keep on like this.”

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line and Dean saw tears sparkling at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know what to say,” he said quietly. “I know I am making it hard for you all, and I know you want to help, but I don’t think anyone can.”

“What do you need?” Dean asked, his voice pleading.

“I don’t know. I’m trying to do better. I thought if I could make breakfast, you’d all be happy, and I want you to be happy. But I messed it up. I’m trying to be me, but I feel like…”

“Like what?” Dean asked.

Sam was silent for so long that Dean thought he wasn’t going to answer and then he whispered. “I feel like I’m the one that died.” 

The words sank in and Dean felt like a fist was clutching his heart and squeezing.

Sam was saying more than he had since Clark had killed the shapeshifter, and Dean had wanted him to talk, but now he was he had no idea what to say. He wasn’t even sure he could bear what he had heard. 

Sam stared at him for a moment and then walked away into the hall. Dean sucked in a shaky breath as he heard his footsteps moving up the stairs and then transferring to the second-floor hall with its squeaking boards.

He should have said something else, Sam had needed something from him, but he didn’t know what it was or how to give it.

The smoke had cleared so he closed the window, blocking the chill, then stared at the charred skillet. He should make breakfast for them, there were no signs that Bobby and Mary had eaten already, though there was a half-full pot of coffee. They all needed to eat, but he didn’t want to reinforce what had gone wrong for Sam by making something else.

Sam had been trying to help them, cooking breakfast, and he didn’t need to be shown how wrong he had gone by seeing Dean succeed. If he would even care. After what he had said about how he felt, Dean wasn’t sure he would feel anything at all.

What kind of nightmare was his brother living?

Dean took a protein bar from the cupboard and poured a mug of coffee for himself then pulled on his coat and went outside in search of his mother and Bobby. The cold air hit him as soon as he opened the door, and he burrowed deeper into his coat to offset the chill.

They were nowhere in sight, but he could hear voices coming from the service bays and he went there and pushed open the door. Mary was sitting on the chair, cradling a mug of coffee in her hands and leaning close to the portable heater out there. Bobby was bent leaning against the hood of the Shelby, a wrench in his hands that he was patting against his leg in an absent-minded way. They both looked up at him as he entered, and Mary smiled.

“Morning, honey,” she said.

Dean smiled in return then set down his coffee and unwrapped his protein bar and took a bite.

“How did you sleep?” Bobby asked, the knowing look in his eyes telling Dean he knew that Sam had at least one nightmare.

Dean shrugged and chewed before swallowing. “It was okay,” he said, hoping that would end the questions and save his mother knowing the truth of Sam’s nightmares.

“No nightmares?” she asked, dashing his hopes.

“A couple,” Dean admitted, then, thinking he might as well be completely open if she was going to know that much. “And he almost set the kitchen on fire trying to fry bacon.”

Bobby frowned. “He was cooking?”

“He was trying,” Dean corrected. “He was trying to do something nice for us. He… I guess he couldn’t keep the focus long enough.”

Bobby sighed and shook his head and Mary’s face fell.

Dean understood how they felt as he felt it, too. They all loved Sam and wanted to help him, but none of them knew how. Sam couldn’t tell them either. They were, all of them, at a loss in this.

“Was he dreaming of Jess again?” Mary asked.

Dreams weren’t the right descriptor for what Sam went through at night, terrors were more apt, but Dean didn’t contest the word. He just nodded and said, “Yeah, he was calling for her again and talking to Clark.”

“I think she’s going to be playing a regular role in his nightmares for a while,” Bobby said. “He did just see her die, again.”

“It wasn’t her though,” Mary said. “He knew that. He gave Clark the go-ahead to do it.”

Bobby nodded slowly. “He did, and he knew intellectually that it wasn’t her, but he didn’t have time to get used to the idea before she was dead. No matter how you come at it, it looked to us all like it was Jessica being killed. It’s going to take him time to get over that, and that’s what he’s feeling on top of the grief that hit him about the real Jessica’s death. It’s too much for any one man to handle.”

“What do you think’s going to happen to him?” Dean asked, and Mary looked up and fixed her intense stare on Bobby, too.

“Honestly, I don’t know. We all knew it was going to be bad when he did feel it, and that was before this happened. Sam thought he had her back. He spent weeks with her. We know from what we saw that she played her part well. She _was_ Jessica to him, the woman he loved more than anything. Then he was slammed with the double blow that she was a monster and that she really was dead, the grief hit him like a wrecking ball….” He shrugged. “I don’t know how long it would take for anyone to over that. I don’t know if Sam ever could. He feels everything so deeply.”

“What do we do?” Mary asked. “How do we get him through this?”

“I really don’t know,” Bobby said. “I guess we just be here for him and let him show us what he needs.”

Dean sighed. That would be great if Sam knew what he needed. He was as lost as them. He said he felt like he’d died.

Dean would never tell his mother that Sam said that, it would break her heart.

It was a measure of just how far gone Sam was, though, and Dean had no answers for that, no way to bring him back to himself.

“I asked him what we can do,” he said quietly.

Mary’s eyes widened hopefully. “What did he say?”

“He doesn’t know,” Dean said. “He’s just feeling… lost.” That was the closest he could come without destroying her.

Mary’s expression became downcast and she sipped the coffee in her hand. Bobby stared at Dean for a moment, perhaps searching for a sign of what he knew Dean was hiding—he was an unusually shrewd man—and then he shrugged and went to his toolbox and rooted through the drawers.

“I’m thinking we can work on the fenders today, Dean,” he said.

Dean nodded. “Sure.”

He ate the rest of his protein bar in three bites and stuffed the wrapper in his pocket then sipped at his coffee that was already cooling.

“I’ll go in and see if Sam needs anything,” Mary said, getting to her feet and walking to the door. She glanced over her shoulder and said, “We’ve got to make a run to the grocery store. I’ll see if he wants to come. It might be good for him to get out of the house for a while.”

Dean didn’t think it would help Sam to be out of the house, but nor would it hurt him. Maybe some time with their mother would be good for him. He might be able to open to her a little as they’d both experienced the loss of the person they loved. It might be too optimistic, but Dean was going to hold onto what might help because he had no ideas himself.

The door had barely closed behind Mary when she came back in, her lips a thin line. “Clark is here somewhere. His truck is parked outside.”

“Awesome,” Dean groaned.

Clark hadn’t visited since they’d gotten back to Sioux Falls, and Dean had hoped the period of grace would last a little longer. He would want to know what they’d been doing about finding Daniel Elkins and the Colt.

The truth was that they’d done nothing; they’d been preoccupied with Sam. Anyone normal would understand that and give them a break, but Clark wasn’t normal. He would be pissed, and he wouldn’t hide it.

“I’ll go find him,” Mary said.

“I’ll come,” Dean said. There was no need for her to face his pissiness alone. 

He drained his coffee and went outside and into the house, Mary following him, to find Clark sitting on the couch with a book open on his lap and his ankle resting on his knee. His body language was relaxed, but his face tense.

“Finished your little heart to heart?” he asked.

Dean scowled. “How long were you standing out there listening to us?”

“Long enough. I was going to come in and say hey, but I didn’t want to deal with the angst echoing off you all. You guys don’t create the greatest emotional climate for an empath. I figured I’d let you get it out of your systems and then come find me. That was a waste of time, obviously, as Mother Mary is still all twisted up and you, Dean, have reset to your default pissed position.” He set the book down and planted both feet on the floor. “What did I miss?”

“Sam is struggling,” Mary said.

Clark rolled his eyes. “He is? Imagine that. If you hadn’t told me, I’d never have known. It’s not like I’ve got a full tsunami insight of what’s going on with him slamming me from upstairs right now. Man, that kid can emote.”

Mary wiped a hand over her face, smoothing the lines of sadness for a moment before they fell again. “It’s bad?”

“Of course it is. What else did you expect?” He shook his head. “How’s the Elkins hunt going?”

“We’ve not heard anything,” Dean said.

“That genius of yours not come up with anything at all?” he asked.

“No.”

“We’ve not heard from him,” Mary said. “He would have called if he had. So would Jim.”

Clark narrowed his eyes. “But you’ve been chasing them on it? Calling around on all your other hunter friends? You’ve been doing _something_ other than wringing your hands over Sam, right?”

“We’ve been taking care of him,” Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Clark’s face flushed with angry color. “Do you have any idea how dumb that sounds when I can feel _exactly_ how he’s doing? You’ve done nothing for him. He’s worse than he was when he was holding that monster’s body. Whatever you’ve been doing to help has actually done nothing but harm. You should have been working the actual problem instead of following him around and wiping his tears.”

Dean tried to tap down his anger to speak civilly but failed. “Screw you! I get that you’re laser-focused on the Colt and getting revenge for your girlfriend, but Sam is still alive, and he’s needed us more. You don’t know what it’s been like here with him. We’ve been trying to help.”

Clark jumped to his feet and advanced on Dean. For a moment, Dean thought he was going to throw a punch, but he merely glared at Dean and then walked out of the room to the hall and called up the stairs, “Sammy, come down a minute.”

“What are you…?” Mary started, but Clark held up a hand to her and she fell silent.

There were the sounds of footsteps on the stairs and then Sam came into the room. He looked blankly from face to face and then asked, “What do you need?”

Clark stared at him for a long moment, seeming to be appraising him, and then he said, “What do _you_ need, Sam?”

Sam frowned and shot Dean a quick glance. “I don’t know.”

Clark nodded. “Okay. Maybe you don’t know. I tell you what _we_ need. We need the Colt. We’ve got to track that Elkins guy, and nothing’s been done about that since we all got back to town. Me, I figured I’d give you a little space and let the rest of your family keep at it, but they’ve done nothing.”

“That’s enough,” Dean growled.

Clark held up a hand to him again, and Dean felt a nudge to his chin that snapped his teeth together. Clark was using his damn powers to silence him. Now Dean was the one that wanted to throw a punch, but Sam was speaking and drawing his attention.

“What do you want me to do?”

Clark eyed him for a moment and then said, “I don’t think there’s anything you can do right now, is there?”

Sam shrugged.

“No, I’m getting the full load of what you’re feeling, and I get why you can’t help.” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “But we’re not going to make any progress here until we have done something for you.” He considered for a moment and said, “How would you feel about a vacation, Sam?”

“A what?” Mary asked, but Dean thought he understood what Clark was leading them towards.

“Sam’s not going anywhere,” he snarled.

“Not asking you,” Clark said dismissively, his eyes fixed on Sam. “Right now, they’re all blind to what matters as they’re focused on you. We _need_ to work the problem though, so we’ve got to make them focus. Is there somewhere you can go and just… rest?”

Sam nodded. “I can get a motel or something.”

“No!” Mary said. “You don’t need to go anywhere.” She turned her attention to Clark. “Okay, maybe we’ve not been focused lately, but we will be from now on. Sam doesn’t need to go anywhere.”

“And if he wants to?” Clark asked.

“He doesn’t want to,” Dean growled.

“Sam?” Clark pressed. “Do you want to?”

Sam ducked his head and said, “Yeah. Maybe it’ll be better.”

“You want to leave us again?” Mary asked, her quiet voice betraying her hurt.

Sam shrugged. “You need to focus. It’s not like I’m going to feel any worse being alone in a motel than I do here. If I’m gone, maybe we can actually do something that matters. We need that gun.” He raised his eyes to Mary and Dean saw they were wet. “It might help.”

Mary leaned back slightly, distancing herself from his words.

Dean understood how she felt. He wanted Sam with them, and the idea that it would be easier for him to be alone was painful, but he thought Clark might actually be offering them a way to help him. Sam had almost started a fire trying to make breakfast as he wanted to do something good for them, to help. Maybe if he was away, he could relax that need to protect them and work through his feelings in his own way while not needing to try to help them at the same time.

“You could go to Jim’s,” he suggested. “You know he won’t mind.”

Sam nodded.

“Sam,” Mary said. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I think he does, Mom,” Dean said sadly.

Clark clapped his hands together. “That’s sorted then. Where’s this Jim based?”

“Minnesota,” Dean said.

Clark nodded. “Great. Get your stuff together, Sam, and I’ll give you a ride over.”

Without a word, Sam nodded and left the room, his plodding footsteps on the stairs drifting back to them. 

Mary rounded on Clark, her hands and voice tremoring with anger. “You had no right to do that. Sam is our family, not yours. We are the ones that will help him, not you. You don’t get to send him away from us because it’s interfering with what you want us to do.”

Clark stared back at her, his eyes dark and face expressionless. “Yeah? Because all I care about is my own revenge. I don’t want this demon stopped to protect Sam at all. And the fact I felt his relief when it was suggested that he could get away from this place means nothing. Yep, I am that big of an asshole.”

“He was relieved?” Dean asked.

“Yes. He was damned relieved. I might be wrong, I obviously don’t know him at all or have any added insight past what you have as _family_ , but I think he might actually need this space to work through what’s happened to him alone without needing to hide what’s going on from you all.”

Mary looked at Dean and he saw the tears at the corners of her eyes. He understood how she felt, he didn’t want Sam to go away and the idea that he would feel better away from them hurt, but if it was what he needed, it was what Dean was going to deliver for him.

“I’ll drive him over when he’s ready,” he said. “I’ll see him settled and then be back by dinner. We can start calling around again when I get back. If we get a lead, I don’t want to be left behind because I’m not here.”

Mary nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll tell Bobby what’s happening and then call Jim and check it’s okay for Sam to stay there a while.”

It would be fine and they both knew it. Jim was a good man and he cared about them all. He would be happy to have Sam there if it would help him.

“I’ll go help Sam get his stuff together,” Dean said.

“And I will make myself comfortable.” Clark went to the dresser where Bobby stored his liquor and poured himself a measure of whiskey then went to the door, taking a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and shaking one into his hand.

Dean stared at him for a moment, wondering how someone that managed to piss him off so much and that knew so little about them was the one that had been able to see what Sam needed and deliver it when they, who loved him, had been helpless.

Dean was glad of it, but it didn’t endear Clark to him at all.

He was still a dick.


	2. Chapter 2

The drive to Blue Earth was only a couple hours, but it still felt long to Dean with his brother a silent presence at his side.

He tried to make things normal, playing the music too loud and attempting to engage Sam in conversation, but it was all wrong. Sam didn’t talk beyond monosyllabic replies and always turned to stare out of the window as he answered, as if even looking at Dean was a challenge.

Dean was relieved when he pulled the Impala to a halt outside Jim’s small house behind the church and cut the engine.

“Here we go, Sammy,” he said in a forced cheery tone. “Your bed and breakfast awaits.”

Sam nodded and climbed out without a word then went to the trunk to get his bags while Dean watched him warily.

Dean got out and went to help Sam with his bags, but Sam already had them over his shoulder and in his hands. There was nothing left for Dean to do but slam the trunk closed and follow Sam to the front door.

He knocked and it opened, revealing Jim in his full pastor outfit, a welcoming smile on his face. “Sam, Dean,” he said with a peaceful smile. “You’re just in time. I have coffee ready and there is fruit cake left from the post-service gathering. Mae has just left.”

Dean was relieved Mae wasn’t there for Sam’s arrival. Jim’s housekeeper was a kind woman, and they’d always gotten on well with her when they were there, but Sam would need space.

Jim stepped back and gestured them inside.

Sam went in and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking around the hall with its dark floorboards and green rug and stair runner.

Dean followed him in, and Jim closed the door behind them and said, “Do you want to have a drink, or would you prefer to drop your bags off first, Sam?”

“I’ll dump my bags first,” Sam said.

Jim nodded. “There’s no need for you to squeeze yourself into the twin room this time as you’re here alone. Take the larger guest room. We’ll wait for you down here.”

Sam thanked him quietly and walked up the stairs.

Dean watched him go and then followed Jim along the hall to the kitchen which was filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. There were three places set at the table with plates, forks and mugs, and generous slices of fruit cake on a plate in the middle.

Jim gestured him into a seat and said, “Coffee?”

“Please.”

Jim took the pot from the warmer and poured some into a mug for Dean and then one for himself. He put the pot back and sat down opposite Dean. “I understand you’ve had a difficult time,” he said.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, you could say that. What did Mom tell you?”

Jim considered a moment and then said, “The bare minimum, I think. Sam was tricked into believing his girlfriend was back as a ghost by a shapeshifter, that he is struggling with grief and shock, and something else that she only alluded to. Will you tell me more?”

“It’s not my story to tell, Jim, I’m sorry. If Sam feels like sharing, that’s down to him.”

“I expected you to say that, and I understand, but there is something I need to know. Is Sam safe?”

Dean frowned. “Safe?”

“Is he going to harm himself?”

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. He hadn’t even considered it before. The idea that Sam might turn to suicide as a way to escape what he was going through was abhorrent, and he would never have thought it of him before everything went to hell, he would have said it was impossible, but now…

“I don’t think so,” he said stiffly. “I don’t see Sam doing anything like that to himself.”

“But?”

Dean shrugged. “But he’s going through something big.” He sighed. “No, I don’t think Sam would hurt himself, but he is in a world of pain, so you need to watch him anyway.”

Jim nodded thoughtfully. “This is very hard for you, isn’t it?”

“It’s damn impossible. I’ve never seen him like this, and I’ve never seen the kind of cruelty he’s been through recently. He’s not the same man he was last summer, and I don’t know how to help him. I didn’t want him to come here at first, when Clark suggested it, I was pissed, but I think it’s probably better that he come.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t even want to admit it to myself, but it’ll be easier if he’s here.”

“Out of sight, out of mind?” Jim suggested with a quirk of his lips.

“No! Never that. It’s just there’s stuff we need to do, and none of us can concentrate on that when we’re so focused on him.”

“Of course,” Jim said. “I shouldn’t have suggested it. I know you better than that.” He drew a deep breath. “I am going to do what I can for Sam, you know that, and I will keep him safe from any outside threat. Mary said he is in danger.”

“Yeah, he really is.”

“Demons,” Jim said. “This place is as protected from them as your home with Bobby. I can protect him. And Sam is capable, too. He may not be as experienced as you in the hunt, but your mother said he has faced more than she ever wanted for him recently, and he was the victor.”

Dean watched him for a moment, wondering if Mary had told him anything about Sam’s powers. He didn’t want to ask in case he didn’t know anything and it revealed too much. If Sam wanted Jim to know, he would tell him. And if Mary had thought he should know, she would have done the same. It wasn’t Dean’s story to tell.

“Have some cake,” Jim said, pushing the plate towards Dean.

Dean picked up a slice and set it on his plate then said, “I will in a minute. I think I’ll just check on Sam.”

He got to his feet and left the room, going through the hall and up the stairs to the second floor where there was one door standing partially open—the door to the guest room Jim had instructed Sam to take. He knocked on the frame and pushed the door all the way open. Sam was sitting on the bed, a parcel box open in front of him and a glossy piece of paper in his hand that Dean could only see the white back of.

“You okay?” Dean asked, moving deeper into the room. “What have you got there?”

Sam set the picture down on the bed and Dean saw it was a photograph of Sam and Jessica. She was riding on his shoulders and they were both facing away from the camera. Dean drew a shaky breath. “Oh.”

“This is what Michael and Elizabeth sent me at home. It’s some of the stuff from her room. They knew we lost everything in the apartment.” He looked up. “It’s all that’s left. Everything else we had burned. All her clothes, our pictures, the CDs we’d listen to together and the DVDs we’d watch. There’s nothing left of our home at all.”

“There’s you,” Dean said.

Sam’s lips curved in a bitter smile. “Yeah. There’s me.”

Dean perched on the edge of the bed and said, “Sammy, Jim asked me something, and I need to ask you about it now.”

Sam looked quizzical. “Yeah?”

Dean drew a deep breath. “You’re not going to hurt yourself, are you?”

Sam looked confused for a moment and then his eyes widened. “What? No!”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even asked. I know you better than that.”

Sam eyed him for a moment and said, “It’s not like I didn’t… But no. I’m not throwing away what was stolen from Jess. I wouldn’t do that to her, and I wouldn’t do it to you, Mom or Bobby. You don’t need to worry about that stuff.”

Dean wanted to know what the rest of Sam’s truncated sentence was, but he thought it was better to not ask. Sam had stopped himself saying it for a reason.

“You want to come down for some coffee and something to eat?” he asked. 

“No, I think I’m going to crash here for a while. I didn’t get much sleep.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “I’ll tell Jim. You want me to stick around a little longer? We can have dinner together before I leave.”

Sam shook his head. “You should get back. Clark was right, there’s stuff for you to do now you don’t have to worry about me. You should go do that.”

Dean squeezed Sam’s shoulder and said, “Okay, man. I’ll call tonight, just to check in, and if you need anything, you call us. Okay? Even if you don’t need anything. If you just want to talk…”

There was something more than sadness in Sam’s eyes; it looked almost like pity. He probably knew just as well as Dean did that he wasn’t going to want to talk for a long time. He wasn’t going to want much more than to be alone to feel. That and revenge. He was going to need the Yellow-Eyed demon stopped to avenge Jessica and for his own safety.

That was what they all needed.

xXx

When Sam finally got himself together enough to venture downstairs, it was dark and his stomach was rumbling with hunger. He could hear the rattle of pots in the kitchen, and the smell of rich tomato sauce was drifting along the hall.

He braced himself to face Jim, to play at being a functioning man for a while, and went towards the sounds. Jim was standing at the stove, stirring a pot, and he looked around as Sam came in and said, “Your timing is impeccable; dinner is just about ready. Would you set the table?”

Sam felt a wave of relief at the ease of the moment. As much as he loved them, the solicitousness of his family over the past week had been difficult. He’d just wanted to hide from them and it all, and their concern had been a constant presence around them when he was there. He’d wanted normal, or at least as much as he could have, but he’d not been able to find the words to tell them that. This, Jim acting like it was any other visit, was perfect.

He took cutlery and placemats from the drawer and set two places then went to the cupboard for water glasses and a pitcher.

“Let’s do away with the soft drinks tonight,” Jim said. “I have beer in the fridge, and I am sure you’d appreciate one as much as I would. I’m as close to off-duty as it is possible to be for a pastor now, and if I have to leave again, I will use a breath mint.”

Sam set the glasses back in the cupboard and took two beers from the fridge and set them down at the places.

“Sit,” Jim said. “I’ve made spaghetti and meatballs. I remember it being a favorite of yours growing up.”

“Great, thanks,” Sam said, taking a seat.

Jim piled two plates with pasta and the sauce then carried them to the table and set one down in front of Sam. It looked even better than it smelled, and Sam’s stomach gurgled with anticipation.

He hadn’t felt the need for food as anything more than sustenance for weeks. When he’d been with Jess, or the shapeshifter approximation of her, he’d eaten for necessity and when she encouraged it. He would have neglected all human needs in the course of his time with her as he’d been in a state of almost addiction then. Now he actually wanted to eat.

Jim bowed his head and Sam did the same, closing his eyes as Jim murmured a prayer of thanks for the meal, and then picked up his fork as Jim raised his head and said, “Dig in.”

They ate in silence for a while and Sam concentrated on his meal, finding it easier to do that here than it had been at home. There was something about Jim’s home that he’d always loved growing up. It was peaceful here, close to the church and with the rolling fields and attached farm beyond.

The old farm—abandoned before Sam had ever been here—had always been a point of curiosity to Sam and Dean growing up. They’d wanted to explore it, creating stories about the ghosts that lived there that they would need to hunt in the days before they even knew what hunting really was. It was the one place Jim had never let them go when they visited. He said it was dangerous there, the floorboards rotted and broken, but a nine-year-old Dean had once been brave enough to sneak in when Jim was at service. Sam had stood outside, too nervous to join him inside, and Dean had only lasted a few minutes before coming out again. Sam had been eager to know what was inside, but Dean had said it was boring and there was nothing to see. Sam wasn’t sure he believed him as Dean had looked spooked, but they’d found out about the real hunting world not long after that and neither of them had mentioned investigating the place again.

“Do you want to talk about it, Sam?” Jim asked.

Sam pulled out of his thoughts with a jerk and shook his head.

“I understand,” Jim said. “But when you feel ready to, I will be here. It sometimes helps to talk.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Sam muttered then took another large bite so he would not be expected to say anything else.

Jim considered him for a moment and then began to eat again. Only when their plates were empty and their beers half-drunk did Jim speak again. “Can I leave you the dishes? I have some paperwork for a fundraiser to work on.”

“Of course,” Sam said with an unconscious smile.

It felt good to be asked as it was normal. When they stayed with Jim, they’d always shared chores. No one had asked anything of him for a long time, nothing but for him to be open. He liked that things at Jim’s were going to be different.

Jim thanked him and pushed away from the table and stood. “I’ll be in my study if you need me.”

Sam got up and carried the dishes to the counter and started the water running. He’d come here to give his family space, never imagining that his words to Dean—'it might help’—could be true. But it was helping. He felt better here. There was still a heavy weight of grief on his chest, and Jessica was close to the forefront of his mind, but it wasn’t consuming him.

When the sink was full, he dumped in the dishes and scrubbed them clean. The motions were familiar and simple, he and Jessica had always done the dishes together, no matter who’d cooked, as it was a chance for them to do something together. Though they’d lived together, their course loads kept them busy, and it was sometimes hard to find time to just talk without distractions and thoughts of what they were supposed to be doing for school.

Even the memories of those moments didn’t bring Sam to his knees the way they would have a day ago now, and he didn’t feel guilty for it either. He should hurt, he should mourn, especially after so long without, but Jessica, the woman he’d loved not the shapeshifter, would want this lessening of the pain for him.

He heard the phone ringing in the study and then the rumble of Jim’s voice that he ignored and continued with his task. He was just drying the pot Jim had cooked the pasta in when he felt the cleaving pain across his skull, and he dropped the pot into the floor as his hands flew up to cradle his forehead.

The pain was searing and, though he knew what was happening wasn’t going to damage him, that it was a vision not illness, he found it hard to breathe against what he was seeing. Sam forced himself to breathe in and let himself fall into the vision.

Missouri was in her kitchen, facing away from him, and her shoulders were shaking. He felt the same sense of menace he’d experienced in some of his visions before, he and knew this wasn’t going to be a simple slice of life to witness. He moved closer to her, circling the table to get a better look, and then froze, his hands flying to his face as he saw her fully. Her face was twisted with misery and shock. Sam felt the same shock, what could have happened to his friend to make her look like that? He moved closer to her and then stumbled back a step as he saw something at her feet that stole his reserves of strength that had been keeping him upright. He collapsed to his knees on the blood-soaked floor.

It was Clark. The little of his skin that wasn’t coated with blood was white, and his throat was gaping in a sick smiling wound. His eyes were glazed, and his lips parted but no breath passed between them. He was dead.

Sam reached for him, even though he knew he couldn’t touch in a vision and it was too late to save Clark, but before he could get close, he felt a hand on his arm and the vision faded to leave him kneeling in the kitchen of Jim’s house, his hands fisted in his hair and his breaths coming fast.

Jim was crouched beside him, his hand gripping Sam’s arm tight enough to hurt him. “Sam!” he snapped. “What happened? Are you ill?”

“No,” Sam whispered. “I’m fine. I need to…”

What did he need to do? His mind was so overwhelmed with panic that he couldn’t think. He had to do _something_. If he didn’t stop it, Clark was going to be murdered. By _Missouri_ …

What could have happened to make her do that? Or had it not been her? Her reaction was shocked and scared. Had she found him like that? What could have happened to Clark?

What could he do? He had to stop it. He needed to save Clark. He couldn’t let his friend die.

He scrambled to his feet and ran from the room to the bedroom where he snatched his phone up from where he’d left it charging on the bedside table and dialed Dean’s number.

It rang three times before Dean answered, sounding surprised and wary.

“Sammy, you okay?

“No! Sam said breathlessly. “It’s Clark. He’s going to die!”


	3. Chapter 3

Mary was standing at the counter, stirring a pot of stew and staring pensively out of the window. She was making an early dinner for them all and thinking of her sons. Dean had been troubled when he got back from dropping Sam off, though he shrugged off her questions and said he was just tired after his broken night’s sleep. He assured her and Bobby that Sam had been settled in and seemed no worse for the change in locations.

Mary hadn’t really hoped for an improvement, at least not yet, but she’d still been disappointed. The only change was that Sam was now out of her ability to offer comfort. She knew that Sam had always loved going to Jim’s growing up and was hoping that he would find some comfort for himself there.

The back door opened, and Bobby and Dean stomped in and shrugged off their coats, hanging them from the pegs.

“Something smells good,” Bobby said.

“Beef stew,” Mary said. “Did you get much done on the Shelby?”

“Not really,” Bobby said.

“I’m going to wash up,” Dean said, plodding from the room.

Mary waited for him to be out of earshot then fixed her eyes on Bobby and said, “How is he really?”

Bobby pulled open the fridge and took out a beer with a sigh. “He’s about what you’d expect. He’s upset Sam’s not here, and I think guilty too because the pressure is off a little. I think it’s better that Clark had taken off before he got home. You know it’s harder for him when he’s around.”

“He’ll be back,” Mary said. “I think he only went back to the motel because he was getting pissed with us. He expects more from us than we’re giving.”

“He’s expecting too much,” Bobby grumbled. “We all want to know about the Colt, but we can’t magic up answers about Elkins. We’re waiting on Ash to give us that. And we know he’s putting himself on the mission now. You gave him a real flea in the ear when you called him before.”

Mary smiled slightly at the memory. She liked Ash enough, but his relaxed nature to life was hard when she needed something from him. She’d made it clear that she wanted him working the case until they had what they needed or there was going to be trouble. She had always been a gentle woman by nature, not the born hunter her father had wanted, though she made out fine hunting now. But her son was on the line now, they both were as Dean would die for Sam, so she had a reason to pull on her Campbell roots and make a little trouble.

Bobby peered out of the window and said, “And he’s back.”

Mary saw Clark’s truck pulling to a stop beside her Jeep and sighed. He would want information that they didn’t have, and he would probably waste a plate of food by picking at it while they ate. She wasn’t sure if he lived out of the vending machine at his motel or if he just didn’t eat, but the only thing she’d seen him put down his throat with any kind of relish was whiskey.

He climbed out and walked around the house, disappearing from sight for a moment, before opening the door and coming in.

“You’re in time for dinner, Clark,” Mary said. “You can set the table.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Not hungry, thanks. I only came to see if—”

“We’ve got nothing new,” Bobby cut in. “But Ash is focused on the problem now. He’s going to be looking for Elkins, and we have left a few messages for other hunters that might know where he is. We’re waiting on calls.”

Clark sighed and flopped into a chair. “That’s great,” he said. “And you’ve not thought about hitting the road and shaking down a few hunters in person?”

“We thought about it,” Bobby said. “But we know our friends will call us as soon as they get our messages.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Must be nice to have friends like that.”

“It helps,” Mary said casting him a pointed look.

Bobby took bowls from the cupboard and carried them to Mary who began to spoon stew into them. She made a serving for Clark too, if only to give him something to do instead of complaining.

Dean came back into the room, his eyes falling on Clark and his face falling. “Awesome,” he muttered.

“Good to see you, too, Dean,” Clark said.

Mary carried two bowls to the table and set on in front of Clark with a pointed, “Eat,” then put the other at Dean’s place. 

Bobby brought a bowl for himself and Mary and they sat down to eat. For a while, there was no sound but the scraping of cutlery against china, and Mary allowed herself to think they might have a peaceful meal together for a change. Even Clark was doing more than just poking at his meal. She was almost finished when Dean’s phone rang.

He pulled it from his pocket and frowned. “It’s Sam.” He connected the call and said, “Sammy, you okay?”

He listened for a moment and then his mouth dropped open. “Wait, what?” He cast Clark a glance and said. “Hang on. You’re not making sense. Do you want me to come to you? Yeah. He’s…” He looked at Clark again and said. “Give me a minute, Sam.”

He got to his feet and went to the back door and slipped outside. Mary watched him go, concern and confusion stealing thought for a moment, and then she jumped up and followed him outside. She heard his voice coming from the service bay and she crossed the yard quickly and went into where Dean was standing with his phone held loosely at his side and his eyes roving the room.

“What’s going on, Dean?” she asked. “What’s happened to Sam?”

“He’s coming,” Dean said, his eyes still moving around the room. He breathed a sigh of relief as Sam’s shape shimmered and formed in front of the Shelby. “Sammy.”

Mary’s initial thought was that Sam was ill. His eyes were wide and his face pale, obvious even through the muted appearance of astral self. Her second thought was what had he seen, who had he seen, and what was happening to them for him to look like that?

“Clark is going to die,” Sam said, his voice pitched high. “I saw him.”

“How?” Dean asked, and there was genuine concern in his voice. He didn’t like Clark, perhaps even hated him, but he was also worried for his fate. In some strange way, he cared what happened to him, too.

“His throat was cut,” Sam said. “He was at Missouri’s place, in the kitchen, and he was on the floor. I’m not sure what happened. Missouri was standing there. I don’t know if it was her or if she’d just found him. She looked like hell.” His eyes were desperate. “We have to save him!”

“We will,” Mary said soothingly. “It’s okay. If Clark was in Lawrence, we just have to keep him away until we work out what happened. We’ll go there and see Missouri, work out what’s happening, and stop it.”

“It’s got to be a demon,” Dean said. “All of Sam’s visions have been connected to demons. Maybe Missouri is going to be attacked and Clark gets in the way.” He sounded doubtful. “He’d go to help her if he knew, right?”

“Yes!” Sam said. “Of course he would. She’s his friend.”

Mary wasn’t sure if she’d classify Missouri as one of Clark’s friends; she thought ally was a better word. The only one she thought Clark might care about, and she wasn’t sure of the depth of feeling compared to the hatred of demons, was Sam. She believed he would go to help Missouri if she needed it though. Which meant they had to keep him away from her until they knew what was happening.

Dean held up a hand and said, “Wait. Someone’s coming.”

Mary turned to the door and saw Bobby stomping in. He looked from face to face and settled on Sam. “What’s going on?”

“Where’s Clark?” Sam asked urgently.

“Took himself off to the bathroom in a hurry. I think that eating actual solid food has messed with his stomach since he’s usually on a liquid diet. Now, what’s going on?” Though he asked the question of the room, it was Sam he fixed his eyes on.

Sam opened his mouth a couple of times, but no words came out and Mary thought he was in shock. What was coming had been _seen_ by him, experienced by him. The emotions seeing Clark die would have incited were his now, even though Clark was still alive and well. At least he was for now.

“Sam saw Clark dead,” Dean said. “His throat had been cut in Missouri’s kitchen. She was there but…”

“I don’t know if it was her,” Sam said urgently. “So we’ve got to be careful. I’ll borrow Jim’s car, but you’ll be faster than me. We’ve got to get Missouri out, too. If it wasn’t her, it means she’s in danger. Get her out and…” He raked his hands through his hair. “I don’t know!”

Mary wished she could touch him, to soothe him physically, but all she could do was speak, so she set her voice at a soft pitch and said, “It’s okay, Sam. We’ll go now. You don’t need to come. Like you said, we’ll be faster, and we won’t be able to wait for you.”

She also didn’t want Sam there for his own protection. She had seen him hurt too often recently to want to risk more. She didn’t want Dean hurt, either, but she knew he could handle himself on a hunt better than anyone. And there was no way he’d let himself be left behind. If they tried, he would come after them anyway. It was better that they went together to face whatever this was. 

“Okay,” Sam said, drawing a deep breath. “Be careful. I don’t know what it was that did this. It could be a demon.”

“Then we’ll trap it and exorcise it,” Dean said confidently. “It’s going to be okay, Sammy.”

Sam’s shape shimmered and settled again.

“You should go back,” Mary said. “You’re not holding steady now. Rest. We’ll call as soon as we have anything to tell you.”

Sam stared at her for a moment and then nodded. “Okay. Please, _please_ be careful.”

“We will,” Dean said confidently.

Sam disappeared and there was a moment of silence before Dean cleared his throat and said, “Okay, how are we doing this? As helpful as it would be to have Clark and his powers there, Sam would never forgive us for taking him along.” He considered a moment. “I don’t think I would either. He’s an ass but sending him into the place Sam saw him die is basically offering him up as a sacrifice.”

Mary pushed her hair back from her face and said, “We need to be careful. Clark knows Sam saw something so we have to make it something we can handle alone so he doesn’t insist on coming along.”

“Something at The Roadhouse,” Bobby suggested. “He’s not going to want to go in there among dozens of other hunters. Even if some of them didn’t have strong views on psychics, he’s not exactly a people person. We can say Sam saw trouble for Ellen and Bill, something normal, maybe an accident, that we’ve got to help with.”

Dean nodded stiffly. “Got it. Maybe a barfight that gets nasty and things get trashed. He’s not going to care about that.”

“Will he believe it?” Mary asked. “We knew from Dean’s side of the conversation that Sam was really upset.”

Bobby bit his lip then shot her a sympathetic look. “The way Sam is right now, Clark will believe it. Another vision, the physical pain and emotion of seeing people he cares about in any kind of trouble, is going to mess him up.”

Mary closed her eyes for a moment as she understood his hesitation and what he didn’t want to remind her of. If Sam would be that upset about a simple barfight that Ellen and Bill might get tangled in, what was he feeling now having seen Clark like that? 

“One of us needs to stay with Clark,” he went on. “We need to make sure he stays in town, and it reinforces the fact it’s not so bad if we’re not all rushing off.”

“Not it,” Dean said quickly.

“Agreed,” Bobby said. “You two together will drive one or other of you out within an hour. I’ll stay. I’ve got a bottle of Johnnie Walker I won off Rufus years ago that I’ve been saving for something special. Saving a man’s life seems a good enough reason to crack it open. I can share it with him. I don’t see him resisting good liquor when he usually satisfies himself with rotgut.”

“Okay,” Mary said. “Dean, grab anything you think we’ll need, do it discreetly so you don’t tip Clark off, and meet me at the Impala. We can cut down the drive in that.”

Dean nodded and strode out of the room. Mary took a moment to calm herself and then followed.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Four_ **

****

Sam felt himself falling back into his body and he drew in a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face. He felt exhausted, drained. What he had seen, what he had felt, had stolen all his reserves. He just wanted to sleep. And he would, if not for the man sitting on the bed beside him with his hands clasped in his lap.

“You are psychic,” Jim said. “You have visions, yes?”

Sam schooled his face into innocent confusion. “What? No, I just…”

He sighed. What was the point in lying? Jim wasn’t a hunter with strong opinions of psychics, and he wasn’t going to tell anyone else. He was close enough to family as Ellen and Bill were. He would protect Sam’s secret.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I have visions.”

Jim nodded. “I wondered. How long has it been happening?”

“Since before Jess was murdered. That was the first thing I saw.”

“And is there anything else?”

Sam frowned. “Anything else?”

Jim bit his lip. “Perhaps we should go downstairs again. I think you need a coffee, or perhaps something stronger. I imagine you are feeling something quite intense right now.” He stood and walked to the door then turned back. “Come on, Sam. We need to talk.”

They went down to the living room and Jim gestured Sam to a chair before going to the kitchen. Sam heard running water then chinks of china that he assumed was Jim making coffee. After a moment, Jim came in with a water glass and went to the desk. He opened the drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He snapped the seal and poured a small measure then bought it to Sam.

“I don’t usually imbibe myself, but I like to have something here in case Bobby or Caleb visit. Drink it, Sam. It will help. I’ll bring coffee.”

He left the room again and Sam sipped the whiskey. His chest felt heavy enough that breathing was an effort, but he knew it was the trauma of what he had seen that made him feel that way and the exhaustion. He was spent. But he couldn’t let himself rest yet, no matter what Mary had said. He needed to know Clark was okay, and he needed to face Jim’s questions first.

Lost in thought, he didn’t hear Jim coming back into the room. It wasn’t until the empty glass was plucked from his hand and replaced with coffee that he looked up and tried to make sense of his thoughts.

Jim sat down in the armchair and cradled his own mug in his hands. His eyes settled on Sam and seemed to stare right into them.

“I understand this is difficult,” he said. “I remember it myself. But I will not judge you for what you are and what you can do, and nothing you can tell me will shock me more than anything I’ve already seen and done in my long life. You can trust me, Sam. Tell me about your powers.”

Sam looked into his earnest face, searching for a lie or something hidden, but there was nothing. He looked sympathetic and interested; the image of the man Sam had trusted all his life.

Sam was not so lost in his tangled emotions that he didn’t notice Jim seemed to know more than he should. He was taking what he had seen Sam experience too coolly. Sam would tell him what he wanted to know, he owed him the truth, but he wanted to know how much he already knew to save himself from having to go over it all again. 

“Did my mom tell you about this?” he asked.

“No. She told me you were struggling and that she was worried about you, but she didn’t mention that you had some kind of power?”

“There’s more than one,” Sam admitted.

Jim nodded. “I assume it was Astral Projection that I saw, too?”

“Yes. And other stuff. I can move things with my mind, and I can see memories trapped in people and things when I touch them.”

“Telekinesis _and_ psychometry,” Jim marveled. “I didn’t know what was possible. No one else…” He shook his head. “Did this all start before Jessica’s death, or is it new?”

“The visions came first, but we went to see Missouri Mosely and she helped me tap into the other parts of it. I’m a natural psychic, I was born one, but the visions came from—”

He cut himself off and bit his lip, realizing he’d said too much. Jim would understand natural powers, but he might not understand the fact there was something else in him, something that the demon had done to make him different.

Jim set down his mug on a table and leaned forward. “Would it help if I told you what I already know?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Jim planted his hands on his knees and said, “I believe, and correct me if I’m wrong, that your powers are not completely natural; some of them come from the yellow-eyed demon your family hunt, too.”

“Yes,” Sam said quietly. “We think so.”

“And there are more of you.”

Sam frowned. “There are?”

“Perhaps you don’t know yet. I am rushing ahead of myself. I need to tell you my story first.” He drew a deep breath. “How does your psychometry work, Sam? Does it need to be a specific item that’s touched?”

“I think so. I’ve seen things in books and some stuff we found in our old house. Clark saw the fire when he touched my scar.” He rubbed his hand over the ridged skin under his shirt, feeling the bumps and dips the burn had left.

Jim nodded. “Then we can try that. It would be easier for you to see than for me to tell you it all. It’s a long story and I don’t really want to have to tell it again. I have done my best to banish these memories for a long time.”

He stood and began to unbutton his shirt. He tugged off his clerical collar and dropped it onto the table then came and sat beside Sam in his thin white vest. He held out his arm and Sam saw a long scar that ran from his shoulder to his elbow. It was silvered from age but also large, as if the wound had been a bad one.

“Touch it, Sam,” he instructed. “See my story.”

Sam reached out a tentative hand and placed it on the scar. His vision blurred and his own scar prickled. With a feeling of uncertainty, he allowed himself to sink into what was waiting for him. He looked and he saw…

xXx

Jim strode into the diner and took a seat at the table opposite his friend. Blake already had a mug of coffee in front of him, and he was fiddling with the folded menu. He pushed it across to Jim and said, “Hurry up and order. I’m hungry.”

Jim glanced at the menu and then looked up and caught the eye on the waitress who nodded and weaved through the tables to them, her notepad and pen poised. The name badge on her ample chest declared that she was Susan and was management. 

“What can I get you fellas?” she asked.

“Scrambled egg on rye toast, a large orange juice and a side of sausage,” Blake said.

She jotted the order down and then turned to Jim who leaned closer to her and said in a commanding tone, “It’s our lucky day, Susan,” he said. “We’re your…” He looked around and shrugged. “Ten-thousandth customers and you’re going to give us a free meal. That’s right, isn’t it, Susan?”

She nodded and a bright smile broke over her face. “Of course. Congratulations. What would you like?”

Jim grinned. “I’ll have the steak and eggs, extra fries, an _extra_ - _large_ orange juice and you’ll keep our coffees flowing.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “I’ll get that right out to you.”

Jim relaxed in his seat and winked at Blake who grinned as she hurried away. As she was passing a table with a group of four men that looked like they were the ones that had parked their rigs in the lot, one of them leaned back in his seat and patted her ass. She flinched and turned to glare at him, but he grinned back at them and said, “Some more coffee, honey?”

“Of course,” she said stiffly.

She went to the counter and picked up a pot of coffee from the warmer and a mug. She came straight to Blake and Jim and set the mug down in front of Jim and filled it.

“That man was rude, Susan,” Jim said conversationally.

“I’m used to it,” she said. “Vic and his cronies are in here most days, and they don’t get manners with practice.”

“He needs to learn some,” Jim said,

“I’ve tried,” she said tiredly. “But he’s not receptive.”

Jim frowned. “You’re going to serve him his coffee in his lap. Empty the pot.”

She shook her head. “As tempting as the idea is, I need this job. I only just got the manager gig and the pay is good.”

Jim leaned forward and spoke in his commanding voice again. “You _will_ dump that coffee in his lap and you’re going to enjoy every moment of it.”

She smiled widely. “Of course I am. I’ll do that right now.”

Blake chuckled as she walked away, and Jim relaxed in his seat.

“Glad to see you’re using your superpowers for good, Jim,” he said.

Jim shrugged, his eyes fixed on Susan as she approached the rude man and raised the pot. The man looked amused and then confused as she began to tip it. As the hot coffee landed on his lap, he cried out in pain. His friends seemed stunned into silence, but one of them, the biggest, got to his feet and grabbed for the pot.

“Leave her alone!” Jim commanded, advancing on the man. “Stand there and watch it happen. You know he deserves this, don’t you?”

The man nodded and dropped his hand. “Yeah, sure.”

“And you will all treat women with more respect in future,” Jim said.

The table of men all nodded, and the others filling the surrounding tables nodded, too. Jim had just sent out a powerful message to the room. There were going to be some much more satisfied waitresses in all their futures.

The pot emptied and the man, red-faced and howling, staggered to his feet. “That was assault!” he cried. “I’ll sue your ass for this, woman.”

Jim walked towards him and grabbed his heaving shoulders. “You spilled the coffee on yourself. You’re going to a hospital and you’re never coming back here. This place doesn’t exist to you.” He considered a moment. “And you’re going to empty your wallet with the tip.”

Winching, face twisted with pain, the man dropped the fold of bills from his wallet onto the table and staggered from the room.

The others in the room watched him go with bemused expressions. After a moment, the other truckers at the table all dropped money down onto the table and followed him out.

“Get back to your food,” Jim commanded the people that remained. “And tip well when you’re done.” He put his hand on Susan’s shoulder. “You might want to get someone to clean up that mess.”

She looked from the empty pot in her hand to the puddle under the table with a confused but mildly satisfied expression and nodded. “Sure.”

She walked away and Jim went back to his table and sat down. “Man, I’m hungry,” he said.

Blake quirked an eyebrow. “Headache?”

“Nope. They don’t come so often now I’m getting a handle on it.”

“A handle on the ability to compel people to do what you want,” Blake said wonderingly. “I want to know how the hell you’re the one that gets the awesome superpower when all I get is a D on my aspects of theology paper and a bunch of make-up work.”

Jim shrugged. “I told you before, it was a birthday present. And you might want to keep your voice down. I don’t want the whole place hearing I’m psychic. Besides, I can wipe that D for you. What grade would you prefer?”

Blake considered. “I think an A will cover it. _And…_ you don’t need me to out your secret if you’re going to practice mass compulsion on a diner full of people. The story is going to get out one way or another.”

Jim tapped his chin and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” He stood and raised his voice. “You’re all going to forget what happened here as soon as you’ve paid your bill. All you’ll remember is to tip heavy and mind your manners in future.” He sat down again and grinned. “See, taken care of.”

Blake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’ll work this time. You’ve got to be more careful, man.”

“Sure, sure,” Jim said, watching a spotty kid mopping the coffee from the floor. “I’ll do that.”

xXx

Sam yanked his hand back and leaned away from Jim. “You can make people do what you want?”

Jim nodded. “Yes. What else did you see?”

Sam gaped at him. “You can use mind control and you want to know what else I saw? Like that’s not enough! Jim, what you did to the waitress was messed up. She could have gotten into real trouble for it.”

Jim bowed his head. “I know. I was young and stupid. I was not as mature at twenty-two as you are, Sam, and I was drunk with power. I didn’t let her get into trouble though. I even arranged for her to get a pay rise from her boss. I wasn’t always cruel.”

“You were bad enough,” Sam said. “And how did you even do it? I’ve never heard of anyone _really_ being able to do stuff like that. That was comic books stuff.”

Jim smiled slightly. “And your powers are carnival tricks, but they are both real, aren’t they? If it makes you feel better, I have not used my powers for anything other than to help since.”

“Help others or yourself?”

“Both, but never cruelly. I had… needs… that my power served in my life after that day, but I am a good man now. Everything I did after my twenty-third birthday has been to try to help others.”

Sam stared into his eyes, seeing the conviction there, and tried to make sense of his feelings.

He saw Jim, the man that was like family to him, that had helped him, but he also saw the kid he’d been that had controlled the mind of another person to make her hurt a man. Sure, the trucker had been rude and deserved some payback, but hot coffee to the lap could have done a lot of damage. Jim could have changed his nature with a command the way he’d compelled the other people in the diner. He didn’t need to use violence.

“I need you to trust me, Sam,” Jim said. “There is much more to my story than you have seen, and it’s going to help you to know. I have waited for this moment for twenty-one years, ever since the day I met your mother, and I have planned for it. We can win together, protect you and the others like you, but we have to work together to do it. Will you trust me?”

Sam stared at him. Jim seemed so desperate, eager, and it made him fear that there was more to his powers than he’d thought. It had been bad enough to learn everything he had, for his life to change so much, but Jim made it sound like this was a war much bigger than the battle he and his family had been planning for. 

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” he said honestly. “I want to, but… Jim, that wasn’t you, not the man I thought I knew, in what I saw. And the fact you can apparently force me to do whatever you like is kinda scary.”

“I can’t compel you at all,” Jim said. “I never could use it on the others. And I have never used it on you or your family.”

“Others?” Sam sighed and shook his head in an attempt to clear it. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to try to trust you, that’s the best I can do. But you’ve got to tell me everything. Who are the ‘others’ you’re talking about? And why have you been waiting? I didn’t know I was psychic until a few months ago, so what have you been waiting for?”

Jim drew a deep breath and said, “I suspected you might be psychic as you had the nursery fire. Some of my generation did, too, though not all. However, I believe we were all visited by Azazel.”

“Azazel!” Sam was shocked that Jim knew so much. 

“Yes, that is the name of the Yellow-Eyed Demon. I know about him; I know far more than I have ever told anyone. I have had my reasons to keep it to myself, but now is the time for honesty. It’s coming again, and you need to be prepared.” He held out his arm and said, “Look again, Sam.”

Sam closed his eyes and braced himself before placing his hand on Jim’s arm and allowing himself to sink into the memory he was being offered. The memory that stole his breath.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter Five_ **

****

Mary and Dean were both tense on the ride to Lawrence, which had never seemed to take so long before. Though they were driving through the late evening and night, the roads were busy, and even Dean’s skills with speed and knowledge of backroads didn’t trim the ride down much. By the time they pulled onto Missouri’s street, it was the early hours of the morning and all the houses apart from Missouri’s were in darkness.

They’d called ahead to put Missouri on her guard, but Dean didn’t feel even the slightest ease until Missouri’s door opened at his knock and the woman herself was revealed on the threshold.

She looked pale and tired, and the smile she gave them was strained. “Come on in. I’ve got coffee.”

Glad of the offer of caffeine, Dean went inside and to the kitchen with Mary following. Dean was watching Missouri as she took cups from the cupboard and collected cream from the fridge, lost in thought until she turned and smiled at him and made her request in her usual ordering tone.

“There’s cake in the fridge, Dean, do something useful and get it out.”

Dean smiled at her and did as he was bidden. There was a large chocolate cake inside that he took out and set on the counter and then retrieved three plates and put them on the tray. Missouri added forks and then instructed him to carry it into the living room where Mary was waiting.

She was just pulling closed the French doors that led into the backyard and pulling across the curtains. “There’s no one out there,” she said. “I had a good look around.”

“I’ve not seen or heard anything,” Missouri said. “Come sit.”

Feeling uneasy, Dean sat down and took the coffee she offered him. It was as if they were here for a routine visit, the coffee and cake, and he almost expected her to launch into a story of whatever interesting client she’d had that day as she usually did before they got into the reason for their arrival.

Mary perched on the couch beside him and sipped her own coffee then set it down on an end table while Missouri cut pieces of cake with the large kitchen knife she had brought in on the tray.

He wondered if that was the knife that had caused the wound Sam had seen, the wound that would kill Clark if they didn’t stop it.

The thought disturbed him. He had no affection for Clark, he was an asshole, but Dean would risk his own life to save him because that was what Sam needed him to do. Even if Clark was worse, if Sam had no affection for him either, he would do it because he was a Winchester. They saved lives.

“He is a good man really, Dean,” Missouri said.

Dean started and scowled. “You’re reading my mind.”

“You’re shouting in mine. Quiet down and I’ll stop.”

Mary took the offered cake and set it down beside her coffee. “Have you seen _anything_ suspicious, Missouri?” she asked.

Missouri shook her head. “I’ve been thinking over everything that’s happened for the last week since you called, and I can see nothing. I even got the talking board out and asked my usual contacts if they’d noticed anything. There’s nothing. I don’t even know why Clark would be here. I’ve not spoken to him for weeks, and I have nothing for him.”

“It’s got to be a demon,” Dean said. “All Sam’s visions have been connected to a demon. They lured him here somehow and killed him. They will anyway.”

“They’ll try,” Mary said. “Bobby is going to keep him there and drunk enough that he’s going to have to use the couch when he finally passes out.”

“I checked all my protections,” Missouri said. “I can’t see any way a demon is going to get in. I suppose they could have brought a human into the mission, but I can’t see a human overpowering Clark, not with his gifts.”

Mary sucked in a breath. “Shapeshifter!”

Dean felt a swoop in his stomach as he realized what they’d overlooked. It was more than demons they needed to be prepared for. The Demon had recruited a shifter to become Jessica to screw with Sam. He could easily have done it again to lure Clark into a trap. Clark had been strong enough to pin ‘Jessica’ down, but if he was caught off-guard, he could probably be killed. Shapeshifters could be fast when they wanted to be.

“What does a shapeshifter have to do with anything?” Missouri asked.

Mary’s eyes darkened with anger and she spoke harshly. “The Demon we’re hunting, Azazel, arranged for a shapeshifter to trick Sam. He had it take Jessica’s form and she pretended to be her as a ghost. Sam was with her for weeks, loving her and believing he had the woman he wanted to marry back. When we found out, we killed her, but it broke Sam. Everything he’d been blocking before, all that grief, hit him at once and he broke.”

Missouri looked stricken. “No! That’s just… evil.”

Mary nodded. “What else should we expect from a demon though? He killed John just because he was there. We don’t really know what he wants from Sam, but perhaps he has to be broken to get it.”

If that was what he needed, Dean thought, he was going the right way about it. The brother he’d left in Blue Earth was a mess, and the astral projection he’d seen of him after his vision was even worse. Sam was under so much pressure and in so much pain, how much more could he take and give before he was ready for the demon?

He knew Sam needed space from them, and Jim’s place was protected, but he would have been happier if he could have stayed to protect him. He also felt guilty that he’d felt some relief when he’d been driving back home after dropping Sam off. He’d had some distance from Sam’s pain, and that had always been harder for him to bear that his own. That had twisted him up almost as much as his worry for his brother.

“Poor Sam,” Missouri said miserably. “Where is he now?”

“In Blue Earth with Jim Murphy,” Mary said. “Clark suggested that he needed some space, and though I didn’t want him to go, I saw that he really did need it when we spoke about it. He’ll be safe there.”

Missouri nodded. “Yes, Jim will help him.”

Dean felt a sudden wave of dismay and he slammed down his cup, sloshing coffee onto the table. They’d come to Missouri to save a life, armed with salt and holy water in the bag that sat at Mary’s side, but they’d not bought silver. If a shapeshifter came, they wouldn’t have a single silver blade or bullet to kill it.

He jumped to his feet, gasping, “Silver!”

Mary’s face drained of color and she lurched upright, too. “Yes! In the trunk.”

Dean rushed out of the room, yanking open the door and rushing into the street to the Impala. He popped the trunk and rooted through the weapons for the silver loaded gun he kept there. He found it under a bag of salt and tucked it into his pants then rooted for the silver knife. He found it and picked it up, turned it in his hand, the slammed the trunk closed.

He was on the point of turning and rushing back into the house when he saw something out of place on the highly polished paint of the car. There was a smudge of what looked like dust in the light cast by the streetlights. He rubbed it and bought it to his eyes, catching the smell at the same moment as he saw more smudges on his hand. It smelled like rotten eggs, like sulfur, and in that moment he realized what they’d missed before. They’d not checked Missouri when they’d arrived. The sulfur wasn’t on the trunk when they’d left, and it wasn’t on his hand when he’d been drinking his coffee. It must have transferred to his hand when he’d opened the front door.

He spun on his heel and ran back at the house, calling to his mother. The door slammed closed as he approached, and he cursed then rammed his shoulder into it. The door was strong, part of Missouri’s close security, and there was no give.

Knowing he wasn’t getting in that way, he ran across the front yard and through the tall gate into the backyard. He hoped Mary had left the French doors unlocked, but if she hadn’t, he had the gun. He could shoot his way in, though that was going to cause problems of its own if the neighbors were woken by the shot.

He reached the glass door and, with a quick plea of help to a higher power he had never chosen to define, he yanked on it. It opened and he rushed through the gap and into the living room, to a nightmare.

Mary was pinned in front of a black-eyed Missouri with the large knife Missouri had used to cut the cake pressed to her throat.

“I thought you’d never leave,” Missouri said. “How did you work it out?”

“Sulfur on the door,” Dean said, edging towards the bag where they’d stowed the flasks of holy water.

“Stop!” Missouri snapped jerking the knife against Mary’s throat, cutting into her skin. “Don’t move or I’ll kill her.”

Dean froze as a small trickle of blood slipped down his mother’s neck. “It’s okay, Mom,” he said.

“I know,” she answered calmly, though her eyes betrayed her fear.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have a single weapon, and one wrong move to get one could end with his mother’s death. Missouri, or the demon that had taken her over, had all the power here. They were helpless.

“So, what are your orders?” Mary asked. “Kill us next?”

“Well… I was supposed to kill Clark, he pissed the boss off killing Jessica since that was going really well, but I figure one of you will do. He only needs one of you for…” She laughed. “Oops. Nearly slipped.”

“What does he need us for?” Dean asked.

“That would be telling. Just know that you two are doing him a valuable service.”

Dean swallowed hard, his mind grappling through possibilities and reactions but dismissing them all as they ended with his mother’s death. 

Mary fixed her gaze on him and Dean saw something other than fear now; it was faith. She believed he was going to save her. How did she think he could do that? If he had a single idea that would work, he would do it already, but there was nothing. He would give anything to help her, he would die, but all he would do by acting was put her in danger, possibly cost her life. He could barely breathe for fear of the demon reacting.

“Sit down, Dean,” she said. “We need to talk.”

“No way,” Dean snapped.

Missouri jerked the knife again and a new trickle of blood appeared. “Sit!”

“Do it, Dean,” Mary said, her voice even.

His heart racing and his mouth dry, Dean perched on the edge of the couch, making a point of adjusting himself to the right so that he was closer to the bag of weapons. The ones he had, the gun and knife, wouldn’t kill a demon and would surely make her act, risking his mother’s life.

“Put the gun down,” Missouri said. “On the floor. Kick it over to me. And the knife.”

Dean obeyed slowly, nudging the weapons with his foot so they skidded across the wooden floor to Missouri.

“Now, I want to know what you’re doing while poor Sam goes through the stages of grief in Blue Earth.”

“Nothing,” Dean said quickly. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“I know that’s a lie. Jessica said you were hunting the Colt. Our lines of communication are now… slower, and we’ve not had an update in a while.”

Mary nodded slightly, and said, “Tell her, Dean,” though her eyes narrowed and Dean felt the warning—don’t tell her a thing—as clearly as if she’d spoken it. In the years they’d hunted together, they’d mastered silent communication.

“We’ve got it,” he lied.

“I don’t think I believe you,” she said.

Dean shrugged, looking suitably nonchalant. “We have. We found it in a hunter’s storage lot after he died.”

Missouri narrowed her eyes. “It’s not here.”

“No,” Dean agreed. “Clark has it. He’ll be on his way.”

Missouri laughed. “You think he’d come towards the place Sam saw him die? I don’t think so. He’s smarter than that.”

“He is,” Mary said. “And he’ll kill you when he gets here.”

“He can’t kill me without killing the meatsuit. You expect me to believe he’d do that to sweet old Mosely?”

“You don’t know Clark,” Dean said, his hands fisting on his lap and his chest aching. He wished Clark was coming. He was the only one that had a chance of stopping this, saving Mary. “He would kill any one of us if it got him what he wanted.”

“I don’t believe you,” Missouri said.

“You should,” a harsh voice said.

Dean’s head snapped to the right as a figure strode through the open door and waved his hand through the air.

At first, Dean thought he was imagining things, that he was seeing Clark because he wanted to, but then the knife was flying towards them and Clark was snatching it out of the air and Missouri was flying back to collide with the mantle behind her. 

Mary stumbled forwards and Dean lurched up and caught her, guiding her away from the demon that was pushing away from the wall and straightening up, her black eyes narrowed with hatred.

Dean tugged Mary to the other side of the room and gripped her hand in his own sweaty one as Clark advanced on Missouri and said. “No moving and no smoking out.”

As if invisible ropes were holding her, Missouri’s arms snapped to her sides and pinned there. Clark yanked them behind her and snapped on the cuffs he’d pulled from his pocket.

“Anyone got the rope?” Clark asked conversationally.

“How did you know?” Mary asked.

Clark snorted. “How dumb do you think I am? Sam calls in a panic and you think I’ll let the conversation happen without me? Poor kid was so worked up he didn’t even realize I was there in the room with you—astrally at least. I heard every word of it. Figured I might as well let you think you were going to be the heroes, give you an ego boost, Dean, and then come after you. I would have been here sooner but getting Singer tied down in the basement took longer than I thought. Man, that old fella can fight. Now… ropes?”

“I’ll get them,” Mary said, squeezing Dean’s had before releasing it and darting along the hall and out of the house.

“Get paint,” Clark called after her. “I’m guessing this asshole has broken all Mosely’s traps.” He eyed the demon for a moment and then said, “Get a chair, Dean, and clear a space. I want to talk to this thing before we get it out of Mosely, and she might as well be comfy while we do it.”

Dean dragged the heavy coffee table out of the way and pulled back the rug that hid the devil’s trap with its broken edge then took a chair from the table on the opposite side of the room where Missouri met her clients and dragged it into the middle of the painted circle.

“I knew you wouldn’t kill me,” Missouri said “You can’t. You don’t have the Colt.”

Clark shrugged. “Don’t we? How do you know it’s not just because we actually like Mosely? Besides, we’ve got a deal and she can’t hold up her end if she’s dead. We’ll get you out and things can move on.”

Missouri grunted a laugh. “You do that, you’ll lose her anyway. You should have been more careful when you use your talents. I got quite the crack on the head when I fell. I think she’s got maybe a few minutes life left in her when I am out. The only chance you have of keeping her alive and functioning is to keep me in her. I’ll be able to hold up her end of the deal.”

Clark chuckled. “Sure, I believe you.”

Mary came back inside and bent down at the edge of the trap to paint in the lines that were broken.

“That’ll do.” Clark grabbed Missouri’s shoulder and shoved her into the trap and then down on the chair. “Someone tie her down.”

Mary took the ropes she’d retrieved and began to bind Missouri to the chair.

Even though the black eyes betrayed what he was really seeing, it was disturbing to see Missouri tied up. She looked vulnerable, bound with her arms behind her back.

Clark rubbed his jaw and said, “Okay, questions. What do you guys want to know?”

“The lines of communication,” Mary said. “What are they?”

Missouri grinned. “That would be telling.”

“It would,” Clark said. “And you’re going to.”

“I’m really not. You don’t have the Colt, or you would have brought it. All you can do to me is exorcise me, send me downstairs. That’s a potent threat, but unless I go down there after spilling the beans, I can handle it. If I tell you a single thing, Azazel will give me to Alastair. You cannot comprehend the things he will do to me.”

Dean took the holy water from the bag and advanced on the bound demon. “You can’t comprehend what we’re going to do to you. Tell us what we want to know.”

She laughed. “Nothing you can do is going to make me talk, and the longer I’m here, the more damage is being done to this meatsuit. Right now, she has a chance of living, maybe, but even as we talk, she’s bleeding inside, her brain is being damaged. As soon as I’m out, she’ll be ruined. It won’t hurt me, but it will sure as hell hurt her.”

Mary walked behind her and touched the back of Missouri’s head. She gasped and held up her hand. It was coated with blood.

“I think she’s telling the truth,” she whispered.

“I am,” the demon said with relish. “You have two choices. Kill her by getting me out or keep me in and get what you need.” She fixed her eyes on Clark. “You know you want this. The Colt isn’t enough. You have to find the demon you need. She can help you with that. She’s got a legion of spirits to call on for help.”

Dean’s eyes darted to Clark whose jaw was clenched and his eyes hard. “You can’t…” Dean started.

Clark glared at him. “What kind of asshole do you think I am? Shut up and let me think.”

Dean fell silent and Mary moved to stand at his side. “We need to move fast,” she said. “If she really is hurt that bad, we need to get her to a hospital.”

“Go too slow and you might as well make it a morgue,” Missouri said cheerfully. “I really am your best option. I—” She cut off and her eyes changed to brown again and her chest heaved with panicked breaths. “Get it out of me!” she shouted. “Do it now!”

“Missouri?” Dean asked hesitantly.

“Yes! Get it out!” she cried.

“You’re hurt, Mosely,” Clark said. “This might kill you.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? I can feel it, but you are not letting this monster use me another moment. Get it out!” She grunted with pain and then the eyes became black again and Dean knew it was the demon speaking when she said, “Wow. She’s stronger than I thought.”

“We have to get it out,” Mary said quietly.

Dean gasped. “But Missouri…”

“It’s what she wants,” Clark said curtly. “Mary, call an ambulance. Tell them it’s a head injury and the patient is unconscious and unresponsive. That should hurry them up. I’ll get Mosely back.”

Mary took her phone from her pocket and dialed as Clark handed Dean a set of keys and said, “Get the cuffs and ropes off. We’re going to need to catch her going down and keep her as still as we can.”

Dean obeyed, his heart in his throat, and Clark started the Latin chant and Mary’s words rushed as she reported the situation as Clark had given it to the operator.

Dean got the ropes away from Missouri and the cuffs off, but rather than fighting him, getting out of the chair, she stayed perfectly still, and he guessed Clark was holding her. His focus and ability to perform the exorcism at the same time as holding her made Dean feel a little awed. He’d seen how much it took it out of Sam to use his powers, but Clark wasn’t breaking a sweat. Was this the kind of power Sam would have one day?

Clark came to the end of the Latin as Mary finished her call and he nodded to Dean who tightened his hold on her and prepared to support her as Clark said, “Audi nos!”

Missouri’s head flew back and the smoke that was the demon’s true form flew from her mouth to sink to the floor.

When the last of it left her, Clark came to Missouri’s other side and said, “Easy, Dean.”

Dean felt Clark’s psychic hold on her fall, and between them, they guided her to the floor as she groaned.

“It’s okay, Missouri,” Mary said, kneeling beside her. “The ambulance is coming.”

Missouri blinked drowsily and whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t stop it. I don’t know how it got in. I was bumped in the parking lot and then it was there. I had a charm…”

“It’s okay,” Clark said in a softer voice than Dean had ever heard from him before. “It’s not your fault.”

“It was going to kill you, Clark,” she said with a small moan.

“Thanks to Sammy, it didn’t have a chance,” Clark said.

“Sam…” Her breaths hitched. “You have to know… I saw it in its mind… The things they will do…”

Dean’s heart stuttered. “What, Missouri? What are they going to do to him?”

“It’s not just him,” she breathed. “It’s all of them, but Azazel wants him to…”

She trailed off as her eyes became unfocused and fell closed.

“No!” Clark growled, pinching her arm. “Eyes open, Mosely!”

Missouri didn’t obey, and Dean held a shaking hand over her lips, only breathing himself when he felt the brush of her breaths against his skin.

“She’s breathing,” he said.

“And her pulse is strong,” Mary said, withdrawing her fingers from Missouri’s throat. “She’s just unconscious.”

Clark shook his head jerkily and looked up as the sound of skidding tires reached them and the voices calling to them, “Ambulance.”

“In here,” Mary shouted back.

Two men, laden with equipment and a backboard rushed into the room and they all scrambled away from Missouri to let them work. Mary stood close to Dean’s side and he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight.

Clark stood alone from them, his eyes on Missouri and fury in his face.

In that moment, Dean thought he saw the real man Clark was, not the asshole he usually showed the world. He was hurting and he was angry. He was also helpless.

Dean was confident that Clark’s need for bullets from the Colt had just increased by one. If they allowed it, he was going to use one to find the demon that had done this to Missouri and end it.

Dean felt the same. The woman had done nothing but help them, and now, thanks to The Demon and her connection to Sam, she was fighting for her life.


	6. Chapter 6

Jim slammed his book closed and stuffed it into his bag then pushed back his chair and got to his feet. The legs scraping against the parquet floor drew sighs from some of the people around him; he had desecrated the silence of the library. He grinned and then began to whistle as he made his way across the room to the door, eyes following him and murmurs that he didn’t care enough to pay attention to.

He got outside into the cool air and huddled deeper into his jacket. It was past ten and the warmth of the spring day had long since faded. He would have been better off staying in his warm dorm room with Blake or, even better, sharing the warmth of bodies in Scotty’s Bar, but he’d been feeling particularly virtuous that evening and wanted to do some real study for a change.

It sometimes felt like a waste to bother when he could compel himself any grade he wanted, but he’d figured he might as well actually put the work in for once. 

He headed along the tree-lined path through the arboretum towards his dorm, thinking maybe he’d see if Blake was home so they could crack out the bottle of vodka Blake kept under his bed and have a party to celebrate his unlikely evening of study. 

He was halfway back when he heard a twig crack in the trees to the side of him. He figured it was an animal or maybe an amorous couple whose passion overcame the cold of shedding clothes outside, and he chuckled and carried on.

He was only a dozen feet further along the path when footsteps fell in behind him. He felt a prickle on the back of his neck that made him speed up slightly, though he was essentially safe as he could compel any mugger or wannabe attacker before they could touch him.

The footsteps increased their pace, too, and he considered his options. He could stop, deal with whoever was following him, maybe give them some fitting punishment for daring to spook him, and head back or he could continue this uncomfortable journey.

The decision was made for him as the footsteps broke into a run and a hand grabbed his shoulder. He dropped his bag and spun around, shouting, “Stop moving!” in a commanding voice as he did.

There was a familiar laugh and Jim looked into Blake’s amused eyes. “Hey, buddy,” he said.

“Blake! What the hell, man? I thought some asshole was going to snake my wallet.”

Blake grinned. “You mean try, right?” He came closer to Jim and bumped his shoulder with a fist.

Jim frowned as what was wrong with the scene occurred to him. He’d compelled Blake to stop and he was still moving.

“Stop!” Jim said again, the command in his voice.

Blake smiled ruefully. “Are you trying to use your mojo on me? I thought you’d promised not to do that when the crazy started.”

“Why isn’t it working?” Jim asked, taking an uneasy step back.

Blake held up his hands. “That’s a long story that we don’t really have time for. I’ve got a job to do.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe with a sheathed needle. He pulled off the plastic sheath with his teeth, spat it out, and stepped toward Jim.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jim asked. “Stop! Get away from me!”

He wasn’t sure if this was some kind of prank or if Blake was high, but he wasn’t going to be let himself be a part of it.

Blake sighed. “I’m sorry, but that’s not going to work on me. I’m going to make this as painless as possible, since I actually do like you and don’t want to knock anything loose in your head with violence, but you’re coming with me.”

Jim saw a strange glint in his blue eyes, perhaps madness, perhaps glee, and he turned to run. An unbelievably strong hand caught his shoulder and pulled him back and then there was a prick of pain in the side of his neck.

“What are you…”

He couldn’t finish his question before lethargy swept through him and his knees buckled. He felt himself being hefted up and as Blake slung him over his shoulder and started walking. He felt nauseous and his head was clouded.

The last question to occur to him before he fell into unconsciousness was… _Why didn’t it work?_

xXx

Jim’s eyes opened and he looked up a white ceiling with a shaded bulb casting light over the room. He rolled over and sat up quickly, mind reeling and stomach rolling with nausea, and retched over the side of the bed he was lying on. There was nothing in his stomach to lose, but he spat the saliva that was flowing copiously.

“Gross, Jim,” Blake said. “This is a nice place you’re spitting all over.”

Jim wiped his mouth and took in his surroundings. Blake stood across the small room, leaning against the blue papered wall. His arms were crossed over his chest and he had forgone his usual letter jacket for a navy sports coat over a white shirt. He looked formal and strange compared to his usual casual dress. He had shaved his stubble too, making him look smarter.

“What did you do to me?” Jim asked. 

Blake raised an eyebrow. “That’s different. Most of the others ask where they are. I should have known you’d change things up on me.”

“Okay, where am I?”

“This is Mount Hammond, Maine. Population 420. At least it was before we moved in. You’re a hundred miles from the nearest town, and, unfortunately, the only road into town is blocked. There was a nasty storm that washed out the highway.” He grinned. “It was a lot of work to get that set up. It’s a nice place though. We’ve got the coast on the east of town and the rest is surrounded by forest. I think you’ll really enjoy the peace and quiet.”

Jim shook his head to clear it. Whatever Blake had dosed him with had to be some kind of hallucinogenic as this was too far to take a prank, even for Blake.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, giving the question the commanding note of compulsion.

Blake rolled his eyes. “You’re seriously going to try that on me again? You didn’t work out yet that it won’t work? You _can’t_ make me and mine do anything with that trick. We’re immune. We don’t know whether you’ll be able to use it on the others yet. The mind reader is coming up blank, but he might be the odd one out. I guess you’ll show us one way or another soon as you meet them. You always were pretty free with the commands.”

Jim lurched to his feet and advanced on his former friend with his fists clenched, but before he could swing a punch, Blake was shoving him back with unnatural force, sending him sprawling to the floor. He landed hard and his teeth snapped together.

“Don’t bother, buddy. You’re no match for us. And you might want to take it easy on yourself. We don’t know if you’re one of the affected yet. For all we know, you’ve got a ticking timebomb in your head.” He checked his watch. “I’ll give you a few minutes to get yourself together in peace. When you’re ready, come on out for orientation and to meet the others.”

He turned and left the room, clicking the door closed quietly behind him.

Jim scrambled up and made to follow him, and then hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. He couldn’t compel Blake, apparently, and he had nothing to defend himself with. He needed to be smart. He had a hundred questions and he was genuinely scared for himself. He couldn’t understand what was going on.

He walked to the window and pulled back the drape and looked out. His first thought was that Blake might not have been lying about his location. There was no way the towering pine forest he could see out of his window was Palo Alto, and the light looked like dawn. He’d definitely been moved.

He crossed to the door again and eased it open, looking into a hall with neatly painted yellow walls and framed photographs of a family of strangers dotted around. He guessed they were the real owners of the house he was in. There was a man and woman in one, the woman wearing a wedding dress and the man a black suit. In another, the man and woman were posed with two little girls and a black labrador.

He stepped out and moved slowly along the hall. He could sense no other presence in the place, but he stayed alert and listened carefully. There was a door at the end of the hall that he opened and saw a pink painted room with twin beds and an abundance of children’s toys on the floor, dolls on shelves and a teddy on one of the beds.

He turned and walked through another door that led into a kitchen with a shiny stove and pine table with a vase of dying flowers in the middle. He crossed the room and pulled open drawers, searching for a knife or something else to use as a weapon. He didn’t want to seriously hurt Blake, even though he had done this crazy kidnap, but he wanted to be able to defend himself in case his worst fears, the ones he was trying to push down, were true. Because if he was right, if Blake was crazy, Jim was in real danger.

There were no knives in any of the drawers he tried and the wooden block on the counter with slots where they would have been was empty. He couldn’t even find a steak tenderizer or rolling pin to use as a bludgeon.

He considered his options, his mind working faster than ever before as it flooded with adrenaline, and looked at the chairs at the table. They looked pretty solid, but he thought he could make it work. He picked up the closest and lifted it high into the air and then smashed it down on the tile floor. The impact jarred up his arms and the chair remained whole, but he wasn’t deterred. He wasn’t going out there unarmed.

He lifted it again and brought it down. This time there was a creak and two of the legs began to show cracks. He did it three more times before the legs were loose enough to pull away from the frame with effort. He took the longest piece and gripped it in his hands tightly then made his way out of the kitchen and to the heavy wooden door at the end.

It felt wrong to leave the house, especially one with such a sturdy door to defend himself behind, but he was sure that Blake had a key if he’d gotten him inside and onto that bed without damaging it. All he was going to do by cowering inside was show that he was scared, an easy victim. He had to be strong, or at least appear to be.

He opened the door and rushed out, then stopped dead at what he saw. There was a crowd of people. He looked from face to face, noting that there were well over a dozen that looked his age, and others of various older ages. Men and women; some dressed in more formal attire like Blake’s, and others in similar clothes to Jim. One, a girl that looked Jim’s age, was wearing loose cotton pants and a Berkley t-shirt, shivering in the cold air. 

“You’re not going to need that,” Blake said beside Jim, plucking the chair leg out of his hand and snapping it into small pieces with less effort than it would have taken to snap a twig. He dropped the pieces down onto the ground and grabbed Jim’s shoulder. “Come on, you’re the last. It’s time for orientation.”

He tugged Jim over to the group and stood at his side. Jim noticed now that the people were standing in pairs, and there was a theme to them. Half of them, the ones Jim’s age, looked as shocked and scared as Jim felt, while others, the others, older, looked perfectly at ease. It was like Jim and the others were prisoners and their companions the guards.

A middle-aged man with sandy blond hair and beard walked away from the crowd and clapped his hands in front of him. “Welcome to you all. My name is Doctor Azazel and I am here to explain what’s happening.”

Jim felt gooseflesh break out over his arms and he shivered. He wasn’t sure what it was about that man that made him more uneasy than anything else that had happened since he’d left the library, but he was. The doctor was dangerous.

“You’ve all been brought here as you need to be protected,” the doctor went on. “There is an outbreak among you. So that you’re not alone and vulnerable, we have brought your protectors with you.”

Jim glanced at Blake who was nodding, and then he looked to the others around him. The people Jim’s age were looking at their ‘guards’ nervously but not with confusion. Jim suspected they were known to them just as Blake was to him. These people, the guards, weren’t who they had pretended to be.

Blake, who Jim had known since his first day as a Stanford Freshman, was not just a student with unusual strength that Jim was seeing for the first time now. He was much more than that, though Jim didn’t know exactly what that meant.

“What do we need to be protected from?” a round-faced man asked, standing a little to Jim’s right and wearing the uniform of a McDonalds worker. His guard, a man only a little older, gave him a sharp look.

“A weakness in the blood and mind,” the doctor said. “Each of you is special in your own way, you have gifts, and that has both blessed and cursed you. This place is a kind of… quarantine. Here you will be monitored and treated. You will be safe here with us.”

Jim didn’t believe a word he was saying. He wasn’t sick, and even if he was, he would need a hospital, not to be drugged and dragged to this place in the middle of nowhere. This was not some kind of government facility either; he’d woken up in someone else’s home.

For the first time, he wondered what had happened to the people, the family, that had lived there before his arrival.

“I don’t want you to be scared,” the doctor said. “You will be well cared for here. But you will need to be on guard. If you develop any of the following symptoms—headaches, blurred vision, ringing in the ears, nausea—you need to report to your protector.”

People looked around at each other, fear on their faces, and the girl in her pajamas wiped a tear from her face, obviously terrified. Jim wondered if she was already having those symptoms or if she was just overwhelmed by the crazy situation they’d found themselves in. 

“Now, that’s taken care of, let me tell you a little more about what happens next. You are going to be staying here until we can be sure you’re all healthy enough to leave, but it will not be an unpleasant stay. We have set the town hall up as a base for you to congregate and get to know each other. You each have a home of your own, and your protector will be on hand to help you if you need it. Your homes come stocked with freezers and cupboards full of food, and we can arrange for any special requests to be accommodated. Otherwise, you will be left to carry on as you wish. There is no pressure for you to do anything here apart from take care of yourselves and—if and when it’s advised and prepared—take the medication we find to treat you.” He clapped his hands together. “We will leave you to get to know each other. I am sure, after some time, you will all come to see exactly how much you have in common and become good friends.”

Jim looked from the doctor to Blake and saw that he was grinning widely. The smile made his hands fist. He didn’t understand what was happening and he believed less than half of what the doctor had said, but he did understand that Blake was the one that had done this to him and he wasn’t going to be able to get away easily. These ‘protectors’, Blake among them, weren’t there to help. They were there to trap them. For whatever reason that doctor wanted them, whatever experiments he was going to run on them—and it had to be experiments—they were going to keep them prisoner in this strange place until they were finished.

xXx

Sam pulled his hand away and looked at Jim, seeing the lined brow and lips pressed together.

It was strange to think that the man he was looking at now was the same person that had compelled a waitress to assault a man—albeit a jerk—and had been kidnapped by his friend.

Jim had always been among the gentlest men Sam had ever met. He was kind and caring. He’d always made Sam comfortable in his presence with his general aura of goodness. He was a pastor that loved his congregation. The two versions, the man he’d seen in Jim’s memories and the one he’d known, were polar opposites.

Jim had been through more than Sam could ever have imagined, and he thought that there was more to come that was going to shock him even more.

“What did you see?” Jim asked.

“Your friend drugged you and dumped you in that town with Azazel. There were a bunch of other kids and… were they demons? Was Blake a demon?”

Jim nodded. “I didn’t know what a demon was for weeks, and even when I did find out it took me a while to believe, but each of us had one. We had been groomed for years before we were taken, before our powers presented. Some of the demons had been with the others since they were children, family friends, and neighbors. Some were co-workers and college buddies like Blake was to me. One person, Megan, a telepath, came with her father. He’d been possessed when Megan was only three years old as her mother had died. It turned out the mother had been killed by her ‘father’ when she showed signs of being abusive. Azazel’s children were to be protected, not harmed, so the demon became her father and raised her. She _loved_ him. I doubt anyone ever had had a more doting parent that her.”

Sam shuddered. “That’s messed up.”

“It is. Megan didn’t live long past our arrival in town before she got sick, and I think it was partly grief that killed her. Her whole life was a lie, and the father she loved all her life was a monster. She couldn’t cope. I think if there had been anything left in town, any weapon, she could have used, she would have ended her own life before then.”

Sam shook his head and tried to make sense of what he had seen and heard. He sorted through his thoughts and asked, “Megan was a telepath. Were they all gifted like you?”

“Yes. There were fifteen of Azazel’s children there that first day, and a further seven joined us shortly after. We were twenty-two with twenty-two demonic ‘protectors’ until the deaths started. I don’t know how many Azazel created in the beginning that died before we were all gathered, but I believe it’s many more than there are in your generation.”

Sam frowned. “My generation?”

Jim sighed. “I will tell you everything I know, Sam, I promise, but I want you to know my story first. It will help you prepare for what’s coming, and it will explain more than I can myself. It’s better if you see.”

Sam hesitated before touching him again, unsure that he wanted to know more.

“What happened to you in that place?” he asked.

Jim smiled slightly. “It was like a party at first. Though we had essentially been kidnapped and we were scared, we soon settled into life there. Even I, who was determined to get away in the beginning, fell into their trap quickly. I believe now that we were drugged by more than the ‘treatment’ we were given. I think we were dosed with something to relax us, as we did relax. We had a steady stream of entertainment, movies projected onto a screen in the town hall, foosball and pool tables, food and drink were plentiful. There was beer but nothing stronger, not that any of us minded. We were happy. It was only when the deaths started that the party ended and we all started to fear for ourselves in a way the drugs I am assuming they gave us in that food and drink couldn’t combat.”

Sam shook his head. “But that place was crazy. You were in someone else’s home, a home with a kid’s bedroom and no sign of where the people that lived there were, and—”

“They were dead,” Jim said. “After the… I called it the end back then… yes, the end. After that, when the demons left their meatsuits, the authorities came to town to ‘rescue’ us and, during the investigation, they found a mass grave. Men, women, children, and the elderly were all entombed there with no dignity at all. I understand that they were returned to families where they could be and given decent funerals.”

“Why have I never heard of this?” Sam asked. “A disaster like that, all those murders, wouldn’t it have made the news or history?”

Jim smiled slightly. “It made the news as a poisoning of the town’s water source. It led the news for a day or two but then there was a plane crash that became the big story and those four hundred lives lost mattered less than the scandal of a drunk pilot.”

“But the bodies, wasn’t there some way of knowing it wasn’t poisoning? Or is that what the demons did to them?”

“No, they suffered far worse ends than that. I am not sure what the families thought, if they were told anything at all as it was far too late for them to be able to view the bodies. What happened in Mount Hammond was disturbing enough to the authorities that a coverup was necessary. You know how most of the world finds a way to ignore the truth of the supernatural, Sam; werewolf kills covered up as animal attacks. There were three dozen demons that left their meatsuits that last… _terrible_ … day and so many more bodies left behind. The living were telling incredible stories of being possessed by monsters and the dead had unexplainable injuries—healed gunshot wounds to the heart and severe head trauma that left no external sign. There was no story to tell that would not have seemed insane, so the truth was buried. It was water poisoning and mass hallucination. The meatsuits were sent home for psychiatric treatment and I… Well, I had no one to tell my story to as I did not know it myself.” He bared his teeth in a savage grin. “At least that was what I told them.”

Sam stared at him and then reached for Jim’s arm, knowing he needed to see it all and wanting to get the story told and done. He wanted to see the worst before he lost his nerve to look.

The familiar tingle in his arm started and he let himself slip into it.


	7. Chapter 7

Jim was making his way back to his house after an evening in the hall watching movies. They’d shown _The Outsiders,_ which was cool, but the top billing had been the new _Star Wars_ which Jim had been excited to see—and surprised as it wasn’t even out in the theatres yet. Doctor Azazel and his ‘team’ clearly had influence.

Jim wondered if that was how they’d gotten away with kidnapping twenty-two people—seven more had joined them in the first few days after they’d arrived—and clearing a whole town without apparent consequences. If they had powerful allies, they could make it work. For all Jim knew, this was some kind of government enterprise after all.

Sometimes Jim wondered about his family, what they thought had happened to him, but he wasn’t as worried as he’d expected to be. Here, in Mount Hammond, life outside seemed to matter less.

He thought he would go back home, have another beer and maybe one of the TV dinners his freezer was stocked with, and then head to bed. Someone was talking about getting teams together for a soccer game the next day and he wanted to be there for that. 

He was almost at his door when he saw the figure outside, and he sighed, it was Blake.

Though he’d been hanging around pretty much constantly, Jim hadn’t had much contact with him. He was pissed at his former friend for what he had done. Stupidly, it was more than that. Jim was angry that Blake had lied to him for years about who he was. Jim had believed he was just another college kid, his friend, but the whole time he’d been part of this… thing, one of the people that had kidnapped him. He felt betrayed and stupid.

He continued towards his house and made to open the door, but Blake caught his arm in a strong grip. “We need to talk,” he said.

Jim pulled himself free, aware that Blake was allowing it as he was much stronger than Jim and could pin him if he wanted to. “I’m not interested,” he said. “I’ve heard enough of your lies.”

Blake sighed. “Come on, let’s go inside and get a drink. It’s cold out here.”

Without waiting for Jim to agree, he snatched the key out of Jim’s hand and unlocked the door then went inside. Jim followed, not wanting to be driven out of what had become his home in the last two weeks by the person that had betrayed him. He went into the living room and threw himself down onto the couch while Blake walked into the kitchen.

Jim heard the rattle of the fridge door being opened and then Blake came in holding two bottles of beer. He handed one to Jim and sat down in the armchair, leaning back comfortably and crossing a leg over his knee.

“What do you want, Blake?” Jim asked.

“I figure I owe you some answers,” Blake said. “I don’t like how things are between us now. We need to have some trust if I’m going to be able to help you.”

“It’s hard to trust a man that lies to you.”

“I never lied,” Blake said. “I just didn’t tell you the whole story.”

Jim quirked an eyebrow. “And you’re going to now?”

“If you want it. I miss you, man, and I want things right between us again. I hadn’t had a friend in centuries before you, and it was good to have someone to talk to and hang with. You wouldn’t understand what it’s like for me and my kind; we don’t have relationships like humans, and—”

Jim held up a hand. “Centuries? Your kind? What the hell are you talking about Blake?”

Blake took a swig of his beer and leaned forward. “Okay, here’s the thing, I’m not human. I’m a demon.”

Jim snorted. “There’s no such thing.”

Blake sighed and said, “Then how do you explain this?” He blinked and when his eyes opened, they were completely black. He blinked and they returned to blue.

Jim shrank back into his seat and said, “How do you do that?”

“It’s what I am. The eyes are a sign of the real me. What you usually see is just the meat suit.”

Jim’s mind was reeling. He wondered if he was hallucinating. What he was seeing was impossible, but it felt real.

As if to add to the crazy, Blake lifted his shirt and exposed his chest, revealing a fist-sized scar over his heart. “Musket in The Siege of Yorktown,” he said conversationally. “I got in the way of a Loyalist’s gun. You should have seen his face when I kept coming.”

“You’re crazy,” Jim breathed.

Blake shrugged. “That’s a possibility, but it doesn’t mean it’s not true. I was born in Corunna in 1560 and I was part of the Spanish Armada in 1588. It was actually pretty shitty for me since I still had four years left of my deal.”

“Deal?”

“Yeah. People can make deals with demons and they get a request… I guess you’d call it a wish… granted. I was born poor and wanted to be rich; it was as simple as that. I made my deal and a Countess fell in love with me. I married her and her padre died within a month. We got the lot. We were rich as Croesus. When the idea to invade came around, I was press-ganged into it. I figured I’d be safe because of the deal, I figured I had the protection of demons.” He grunted a laugh. “I was dead wrong. I didn’t read the fine print since I couldn’t actually read, and that doomed me early. The ship went down to the guns and I woke on the rack in Hell. Took a couple centuries of earth time, but eventually I became a demon and made my way topside. I took this meatsuit, a sergeant in the Continental Army and went from there. Kept the meat suit and used some well-placed possessions to get me into Stanford when you came around.”

Jim stared at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. “You know you’re talking crazy, right?”

Blake grinned. “And yet it’s all true. How do you think I’m so strong?” His eyes turned black again and he winked. “How do you think I got the eyes?”

“You’re nuts.”

Blake shrugged. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe. You’ll find out the truth eventually. See, you’re the one, I know it. When the plan comes together, when we have our victor, it’s going to be you. You’ll be my leader and you’ll see it all for what it is.”

Jim stared at him in shock. This was insane. There were no such things as demons. It was enough of a stretch to believe in psychic powers—and they were plentiful here, they all had something—but the idea that Blake was a demon was nuts. Jim had studied theology as something that interested him, and he’d been raised Christian, but demons as actual people was just…

“No,” he said. “I don’t know why you’re saying this or how you think it’ll help you and me be ‘friends’ again, but I don’t want to hear more. I want you to get out of my house and stay away in future.”

Blake looked disappointed but his voice was casual as he said, “No can do, buddy. I’m your protector. I’ve got to stick close.”

Jim felt a headache building behind his eyes, probably a result of the stress of this crazy conversation, and he rubbed his temples.

Blake became alert at once, concerned. “Do you have a headache?” he asked.

“No,” Jim lied. “I’m just tired.”

“You have to tell me if you’re sick. You heard what Azazel said. You’re here to be taken care of. We’ve already lost people to this thing. I’m not letting you be one of them.”

Jim shook his head. “I want you to leave.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed. “No. You’re going to hear me out and then you’re going to see the doctor with me. Maybe if you understand, you’ll stop being a stubborn ass.”

Jim’s headache built and he leaned back in his seat and said, “Fine, talk. Sooner you’re done, the sooner you can get out of here and I can sleep.”

“It starts with headaches,” Blake said. “You know that from when your ability presented, and for most of you, that faded as you got more practiced. It didn’t for everyone, and then others started getting sick. They had nosebleeds, too, dizziness, and then…” He drew a deep breath. “Huge cerebral bleeds, Jim. Something in their head blew like a geyser, and they were killed. It happened fast.”

Jim winced, feeling properly scared for the first time since they’d arrived in this town. He didn’t believe in demons, but he did believe in medicine. His ability had started with migraines and that’d worried him at the time, but when they’d ended, he’d thought it was over. 

“It’s just a headache,” he said doubtfully.

“Or it’s something else,” Blake said, getting to his feet. “Come on. We’ve got to get you checked out.”

Jim rose and went out of the house with Blake and headed to the business district of town that he’d not really visited before. There was no need for him to when everything was brought to him. He saw now that it housed a bar, a general store with an attached post office, a small police department and a medical center. It was there that Blake led him, pushing open the door and calling, “Azazel!”

Doctor Azazel appeared in a doorway on the opposite side of the reception area, a frown on his face. “What is it?”

Blake pushed Jim between the shoulders and Jim stumbled forward. “He’s got a headache,” he said.

The doctor frowned. “Any other symptoms?”

“I don’t know,” Blake said. “Jim?”

Jim shook his head. “It’s just a headache.”

The doctor frowned at Blake and said, “You should know for certain. Why have you not been monitoring him?”

“Things have been difficult between us,” Blake said. “And since you wanted them kept calm, I didn’t push it.”

Doctor Azazel nodded stiffly and said, “Bring him in,” and turned and went back into the room he’d come from.

Jim was led in after him, Blake’s hand on his upper arm, and Jim saw the small room with leather medical couches, a curtained off area, and a woman wearing a white coat. It only struck Jim then that Azazel was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing when he’d greeted them after their arrival.

Jim was steered to the couch and he perched on the edge of it as Doctor Azazel had a whispered conversation with the white-coated woman. She came to Jim and said, “Okay, Jim, I’m Heather and I’m here to help you. Tell me about this headache.”

Feeling uneasy, Jim touched a hand to his head and said, “It’s here, behind my eyes. But that’s it. I’ve not got any of the other stuff Blake was talking about.”

She nodded and took a penlight from her pocket and ran it across his vision then pulled up his eyelid and looked closely at him. “I don’t see any other signs,” she said. “It’s probably just tension or too much beer. I think we should commence treatment though.”

Doctor Azazel nodded. “I agree. He can be our control group.” He picked up a small white bottle from the table, the kind they put children’s medicine in, and handed it to Jim. “Drink it all.”

“What is it?” Jim asked suspiciously.

“It’s a painkiller and vitamin supplement. It’s going to help you.”

Jim brought it to his lips then hesitated.

He knew that taking anything offered to him by the people that had kidnapped him and brought him to this place could be a bad idea. But on the other hand, he’d been eating and drinking what they’d bought him ever since he arrived, and he believed they were here to be taken care of, not hurt. They made life good for them with the movies and party atmosphere.

Doctor Azazel nudged Jim’s elbow, knocking the rim of the bottle against his teeth and sending a small trickle of its contents into Jim’s mouth. It was sweet, syrupy, and also strangely metallic, but not unpleasant. What was pleasant was the way Jim felt when he swallowed it. It was like a rush of adrenaline; his nerves sang and his mouth watered as his heart sped its pace. He tipped the bottle and drained the contents then lowered it, licking his lips.

The others in the room looked pleased with his reaction to it, and Doctor Azazel nodded, satisfied. “I think we can call that mixture a success.”

Blake eyed Jim closely. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” Jim said, surprised by how breathy his voice was. “My headache is gone.” He licked his lips again. “Will I have to take more of that stuff?”

“Do you want to?” Doctor Azazel asked.

“Yes.”

They chuckled, indulgent gazes on Jim, that faded into concern as there was a strange groan from behind the curtain. Doctor Azazel and Heather quickly turned away and the curtain was pulled back to reveal Megan, the woman that had come in with her father and had struggled so much with his betrayal, lying on a couch. She was starkly white and a trickle of blood was coming from her nose and ears.

“Get him out of here, Blake,” Doctor Azazel commanded.

Blake gripped Jim’s arm hard and dragged him away, through the reception and onto the street.

“What’s going on?” Jim asked. “What’s wrong with her?”

Blake glanced back over his shoulder. “She didn’t take her medicine.”

“That stuff you gave me? Is that what’s going to happen if I don’t take it?”

Blake surveyed him for a moment. “Maybe. Is that going to be a problem? Do you _want_ more?”

“Yes,” Jim answered without hesitating and then bit his lip. He was showing weakness to Blake, softening his resistance. “Maybe.”

Blake clapped him on the shoulder. “I think that’s more yes than maybe, buddy. And that’s good. Keep taking your medicine and you’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” Jim said. “He said I was the control group.”

“Yeah, but that stuff…” Blake grinned. “I promise you, man, you’re not going to regret taking it.”

xXx

“What did they give you?” Sam asked. “What was the medicine?”

Jim bowed his head. “I will tell you, but I would like for you to see the whole story first. I think once you know what it was, it will be hard for you to see anything else. It’s not just me that’s had it.”

He gave Sam a pointed look that made a shiver run up his spine.

“I’ve not taken anything,” Sam said. “I’ve never had anything like that.”

“You have, Sam, you were just too young to remember.” He smiled slightly but there was an apology in his eyes. “I am sorry to do this to you, Sam, I would give anything not to have to, but I think you’re our only hope. I don’t have the power I need anymore. You will have to be the one to end it.”

“End what?” Sam gasped. “Wait! Do you think I’m the one that’s supposed to stop Azazel? How? Nothing I can do will hurt a demon.”

“Nothing you can do yet, no, but there is more that you’re still not aware of. You have so much power that you’ve not tapped into.”

“No! The Colt…”

Jim nodded. “Might work. I hope it will, as I don’t want you to have to do it, but even if it can kill him, he has to be a target for the bullet to hit. Someone is going to need to hold him.”

“Do you mean telekinesis? I can hold him like Clark did Jess?”

“In a way…” He extended a hand. “Look and see, Sam. There’s not much more story to tell. Things moved fast after I had the… treatment.”

Sam reached for him and prepared himself for more, a hundred questions in his mind and fear in his heart, but the need to know and understand it all drove him to look.


	8. Chapter 8

Jim was sitting outside his house with David, a pyrokinetic that had been part of the original group. They were sharing a beer and in the late afternoon sun. They’d been in Mount Hammond for a month, and things had changed.

Jim was no longer the only one that took the ‘medicine’. There were many of them now, though it wasn’t working for everyone. Of the twenty-two they’d started with, only twelve remained. The others were gone, Jim believed dead, and that chilled his heart when he thought about it.

The strange thing was that he didn’t often think about it. Most of the time he was okay.

He was taking his medicine every day and he seemed healthy. He had none of the symptoms the others displayed. The thing that felt wrong was the way he needed his medicine. He was being given more than he had in the beginning, encouraged to drink it by Doctor Azazel—when he was there which was rarely now that Spring was moving into Summer—and his assistant Heather, and it still had the same effect on him; it felt _good_ to take it.

“Want to go play pool?” David asked.

“Nah,” Jim said. “I’m not in the mood.” He checked his watch. He still had an hour until he was due to report to the medical center. He wished it could be sooner. He wanted that feeling again.

“What do you want to do then?” David asked.

“Just wait.”

David sighed. “You juice heads are all the same. Once you’re dosed you buzz like a livewire, but once it wears off, you’re practically stationary until time comes around again and you start tweaking. You know you’re a junkie, right?”

Jim ignored the question and raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not a juice head?”

David shook his head. “Nope, I had a bad reaction the first time—puked blood—and they didn’t offer it up again.”

“And you’re not sick?”

David shrugged. “Not really. Just the same old migraines I had since I became a Firestarter.”

“You don’t think maybe that means you _are_ sick?” Jim asked.

“No, I think it means I have migraines. I know there’s something going on here, I know some of the others disappearing, probably dying, but I’m basically fine.”

Jim stared into his eyes and saw the flicker of fear deep within them. David didn’t believe what he was saying, but he wasn’t going to face it. Jim had a feeling that David was going to be one of the disappeared soon.

David looked up as Stephen, a telepath, one of the other men that lined up for medicine with Jim, came to them. He looked strange, nervous, and when he reached them and leaned down to whisper, Jim noticed he was shaking. “You need to come with me.”

Jim frowned. “Why?”

“I’ve got something to show you. Come on. We’ve not got long before they notice he’s missing.”

“I think I’ll just hang here awhile,” Jim said lazily.

Stephen grabbed his arm and hauled him up with surprising strength. “Come now!”

Confused and a little pissed, Jim allowed himself to be led across the street to Stephen’s house and went inside, David following. Stephen closed the door behind them and slid over the bolts at the top and bottom. “Can’t come in,” he mumbled.

Jim and David exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised and the communication— _this guy is crazy—_ passing between them, before they followed him into the kitchen and through a door to the basement.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Jim sucked in a breath and asked, “What the hell is going on here?”

There was a man standing in the center of the room, a symbol painted under him in black. Jim recognized him as one of the protectors that had come in with one of the disappeared—a girl called Elizabeth. Jim had thought he’d taken off when his charge had died the way some of the others had.

As unexpected as it was to see him, it was his appearance that shocked Jim the most. His chin and front were coated with blood and there was something strange in the way his jaw was set. His teeth were clenched together. His eyes were as black as Blake’s when he had been trying to tell Jim he was a demon. 

“What did you do to him?” David asked. “Why’s he all bloody.”

Stephen was fumbling with bolts on the door at the top of the stairs and he didn’t answer until they were all in place and he’d come down into the stonewalled basement. “I cut out his tongue.”

David’s mouth dropped open and Jim gasped, “You did _what?_ ”

“I couldn’t let him call for help,” Stephen said. “And I couldn’t control him at first.”

“You can now?” David asked.

“No,” Jim said before Stephen could answer. “None of our powers work on them or each other. And you’re a telepath, right?”

Stephen nodded. “I was just a telepath, but now I am so much more.” He fixed his eyes on the man in the center of the room. “Open your mouth.”

The man obeyed, though his eyes blazed with anger, and Jim took a step back. There was something sickly wrong inside. Where there should have been a tongue was a gaping hole with a stub of flesh at the back of his throat that was ragged.

“How did you do that?” Jim asked.

“They didn’t clear the house properly,” he said. “The people that lived here before were hunters. I found a hunting knife and rifle in a case under the bed.” He laughed softly. “I thought about using it to kill him, but then I saw it would do no good. He’s not human.”

“Then what is he?” David asked.

“A demon.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

“I saw it. When they started giving me the medicine, I got stronger. The more they gave me, the stronger I got. The more I asked, the more they gave. If I tell them I have a headache, they give me even more. It’s how they’re keeping us all alive.”

“There’s no such thing as demons,” David said.

“Then why are his eyes black?” Stephen asked. “Why can’t he move? He’s trapped in there. It’s like some kind of magic.” He pushed his lank hair back from his face. “I saw it all in his head, and the others’. I see it all. When I got strong, my power started working on them, and now I can see it all. They’re all, all the protectors, demons, and we’re here to fight.”

Jim was unable to speak, his mind was filled with confusion and contradicting thoughts, but David found his voice. “Fight what?”

“Each other. There’s going to be a war, all the demons on earth, and they want one of us to be a leader. But not _us_ us. There’s more, a new generation of people like us, and Azazel has one he wants. He’s just a baby now, but when he’s grown, when he’s ready, Azazel thinks he’s going to be the one.”

“Doctor Azazel?” David asked.

“He’s not a doctor. He’s like the chief demon. He’s in charge of them all. It’s his plan. He’s the most powerful one. We’ve got to stop him.”

Jim found his voice at last. “He’s making babies like us? Actual babies?”

“Yes, the same way he made us. There’s a whole new generation. That’s why we’ve got to stop him.”

“How do we do stop him?”

Stephen smiled widely and his eyes seemed full of a manic energy. “We send him back to hell. There’s a way, and we’re the only ones that can do it. Look at this.” He held out a hand to the man in the trap and fisted it. The man’s mouth opened and he made a rasping sound in his throat as black smoke poured from him. Stephen’s hand shook and he staggered back, and the smoke flowed back into the man and his mouth closed, hiding the sick hollow.

“That, the smoke, is the demon,” he said.

“That’s crazy,” David said.

Most of what Jim had seen in Mount Hammond, before even, was crazy, but he thought now it might be true. He had seen the smoke and it was nothing human. That man, Blake, probably each and every one of the protectors, was a demon.

“It’s true,” Jim said quietly. “That’s a demon.”

Stephen breathed out in a rush. “I _knew_ you were the right one to tell. I knew you’d believe. Now you can help me. That, what I did, is called exorcising. The man you see is what they call a meatsuit, a human the demon is possessing. If I’d gone all the way, it would have been exorcised and sent back to hell. I saw it all in his head.”

“Hold on!” David said, his voice weak. “You cut out a man’s tongue? You’ve killed him. If that demon is out, he’ll die, right?”

“Yes,” Stephen stated. “They probably all will. Demons are hard on their meatsuits. It’s rare for them to live if they’re exorcised.”

Jim shook his head wonderingly. “Blake… He was shot. I saw the scar.”

“Then he’s dead,” Stephen said. “I think if you checked them, you’d see most of them are scarred. Demons do it for kicks.”

Jim rubbed a hand over his face. His mind couldn’t keep up with what he was seeing and hearing, and he desperately needed medicine. He wanted to go now, ask for it, and then, when he could think clearly, come back and talk to Stephen.

“Demons…” David said weakly. “Freaking demons.”

“Yes,” Stephen hissed. “And we’ve got to stop them before the next generation are killed. When they’re grown, when they’re ready, they’ll be brought somewhere like this to fight, and that one Azazel wants, he’s going to be used to start a war. We can’t let that happen.”

“Sure, that sucks for them,” David said. “But what about us?”

Stephen shot him an apologetic smile. “I think it’s too late for us. The medicine is going to destroy us. That’s what the demons think at least.”

Jim closed his eyes as he absorbed the words and pinched his leg, willing himself to wake up from this nightmare. It didn’t work though. He was already awake. And this was all real. What Brady told him, what Stephen told him, swirled in his mind and overwhelmed him.

“I’m not taking the medicine,” David said defiantly. “I won’t be destroyed.”

Stephen considered. “Then you might live. But you’re no good to us. You can’t do what we can.” He fixed his eyes on Jim and waved a hand at the trapped demon. “You’ve got to practice on him. It’ll happen fast if you have enough medicine. It makes you stronger. You and me can do it. We have to exorcise Azazel and send him back to Hell. It’s the only way to protect the next others. If we don’t stop him, they’ll die, those babies will grow and die, and that special one will be a monster. I think it will end the world.”

Jim felt the last of his happy peacefulness desert him, overwhelmed with tension and horror of what he’d heard, what it meant for him and the people around him, what it could feel for a whole new generation of babies. “Okay. I’ll do it. Tell me what I need to do.”

Stephen beamed at him. “Go get your medicine and tell them you’ve had a headache. They’ll give you more. Come back here and we’ll start. Ask for more, tell them it helps the pain, and they’ll do it. They don’t want to lose any more of us yet. We’re the experiment and they’ll have to wait years for the next generation to be ready.”

“Are you seriously going to do this, Jim?” David asked. “If they find this… demon… down here, they’ll kill you both. Just… take your medicine and enjoy what’s here.”

Jim glared at him. “Haven’t you heard anything he’s said? There is no time. I’m going down either way, so I might as well do it fighting the ones that deserve it. That baby, the others like him, will be here and they’ll be drugged, too.”

“You don’t seem to mind being drugged,” David pointed out.

“I don’t anymore,” Jim said. “I’m already screwed. And I believe Stephen. This special one is going to lead a war that will end the world. What the hell do any of our lives matter compared to that?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m doing it.”

Stephen clapped him on the back. “Good. Let’s go. We need our medicine.”

Jim started up the stairs and turned back at the door, his hand on the bolt, “Stephen, do you know what’s in the medicine they’re giving us?”

Stephen stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. “No. They don’t think about it. I don’t think anyone but Azazel knows.”

Jim nodded and unbolted the door then went into the kitchen, making a concerted effort to hide his unease so he could face the demons without them suspecting anything, but it was hard. He thought that Stephen knew exactly what they were being given, and the fact he wouldn’t tell him, made Jim think it was better to not know. 

xXx

“Did you get more to work with you?” Sam asked, his mind reeling at what he’d seen and what it meant for him.

“Yes, they were all willing when they knew the stakes.”

“How many of you were there?”

“Ten that could exorcise,” Jim said. “Well, at least ten that we believed could exorcise. None of us had tested it to the limit as we only had one demon to practice on. We were confident though, full of medicine and conviction. Those babies needed to be saved, the special one needed to be protected from that fate and the world needed to be protected from him. Strangely, I think it was the babies that motivated us more than anything. The world was too big an idea to take in. Whereas a baby, an innocent with his whole life ahead of him, seemed like a cause we could all believe in.”

Sam swallowed hard. “Did you find out who the special baby was?”

Jim’s eyes softened. “I’ve never known for sure. I only have a theory. There is one that Azazel seems to have put more time and energy into than any other. I think it might be…”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and willed back the tears that prickled. When they opened again, he stared into the empty fireplace but felt Jim’s own stare on him.

“Is it me?”

“I think so. I suspected as much before, when I met your family and heard the story of your father’s death and your mother’s history as a hunter. The timing of his death, of Azazel’s visit, seemed right, and…” He cleared his throat. “And there’s more I don’t know, isn’t there, Sam? He didn’t just kill your girlfriend.”

Sam nodded. “Yes. There’s more.”

He felt sick. If Jim believed it was him that was destined to lead and do so much damage while only knowing that Azazel had killed Jessica, if he knew about the shapeshifter, he’d be certain. Sam was.

In a strange way, he felt better knowing it was him and not someone else. He could control what he did, stop himself doing whatever it was Azazel wanted him to do. He didn’t have to put his faith in someone else to fight against the fate Azazel had planned for him. He could do it himself. He knew what had happened to Jim, he knew about the medicine, so he could avoid that part of it.

He was worried about the sickness and deaths that plagued the people that were with Jim, he knew it could happen to him, but he was more worried for the rest of it. His life was one man’s. There was so much more at stake.

“Can you tell me what else he did to you?” Jim asked.

Sam drew a deep breath through his nose and said. “I will, but I want to see the rest of your story first.” He wanted to get that part over with before he faced what came next.

Jim nodded and extended his arm. “Go ahead…”

xXx

There was no decision to make. It happened that day.

Jim had thought they would have weeks more to train. The demons seemed happy, and when they’d last seen Azazel, he’d been pleased that his ‘generation’ were all so healthy and committed to taking their medicine. They all played their parts well, spending time with the demon in Stephen’s basement in turns and maintaining appearances the rest of the time. They watched movies, played soccer and baseball, and they lined up dutifully for medicine and took all they were given.

Most of what Jim knew about the progress of the others came from Stephen as he was the only one always present when they trained in their small groups. He said they were good though, and there had been a breakthrough that gave them even more hope for success, to do more than exorcise.

One of them, a girl called Carol, was training when she lost her grip on the demon. When she’d grabbed at it again, she’d gripped harder and it had caused the demon more pain than they’d seen before. That had been interesting, but it was the thought Stephen picked at the same time that had been the real revelation. The demon had believed it was going to kill him. He feared that if the grip was tight enough, the will strong, he would have been destroyed completely.

It gave Jim and Stephen a new mission. The others trained to exorcise, but Stephen and Jim were committed to the kill. The believed they could kill Azazel if they worked hard enough. Then there would be no more generations ever. The babies they were trying to protect would be safe for life. If they exorcised, Azazel might one day claw his way out of Hell. If he was dead, he would never be a threat again.

But when it came, it came fast, and, among all that death, there was not the one that mattered.

It was an ordinary day, they’d just had their medicine and Jim was heading to Stephen’s house to train, when there was a disturbance from the town hall and people began to look nervous. Life was always peaceful here, free, but now there was agitation.

Jim walked ahead of the others toward the sound, and he was the first to see the ranks of demons that had arrived, at least a dozen more than usual. At the head of them all was Azazel, and he looked grim. 

The others of the generation fell in close to Jim, leaving him a little ahead as their appointed leader, and their demonic protectors came to stand with them. Blake stood close enough to Jim that their shoulders brushed.

“I have news,” Azazel said. “You’re all cured.”

There was a murmur of shock from the others, and the demons’ eyes became steely. Blake shifted restlessly.

“It’s time for you all to go home,” Azazel said.

“We can go home?” David asked hopefully.

“Of course. Thanks to you all we have discovered the cure to the ailment that affected you. You will, of course, be sent home with more medicine, and we will be in touch, but you are free to go. Gather your belongings and we will get you home. We have arranged transport to collect you from the road.”

David started towards his house, his footsteps fast and his face eager, and Jim’s eyes drifted from him to Azazel in time to see Azazel give the flick of the hand and hear the clearing of a throat that seemed to be some kind of signal to the demons.

David’s personal demon, a female whom Jim had never asked the same of, grabbed his shoulder and then gripped his head and chin and twisted. There was a sick crack as David’s neck broke and then his body was thrown to the ground.

People screamed and there was a moment in which the air seemed to hang with anticipation, before Jim shouted, “Do it now!”

He never knew, not even after, how many of them had tried before they were killed, but there were four more cracks and four bodies that hit the ground without a demon being exorcised, but then the exorcisms began in earnest. There was shouting and groans, and the air filled with rushing smoke that funnelled into the air and sank to the floor, leaving sparking fiery patches in the ground where it had disappeared.

Jim spun and grabbed at Blake’s dark center, squeezing it as hard as he could. Blake howled in pain and then the pressure against Jim’s hand disappeared and Blake’s body dropped to the ground, eyes wide and unseeing.

Jim turned from him and ran at Azazel who was watching the scene with a look of surprised amusement. From his pocket he withdrew something which he tucked between his fingers and said, in a conversational tone, “How did you manage this?”

“We trained,” Jim said, reaching out a hand and grasping at Azazel’s core with his mind.

Looking unconcerned, Azazel approached him and said, “Perhaps I was wrong to count on the next generation. See what you have all become.”

From around him Jim heard shouts and screams, thuds as bodies hit the ground, but he didn’t turn to look if they were demons or others like him. He had something he had to do.

He grabbed at Azazel again, his mind’s fingers curling around it and fumbling for grip. Azazel sighed and took a step closer then swept out his hand, across Jim’s stomach and down his left arm.

He felt burning pain and then a rush of heat down his legs and wrist as blood poured from him, but this grip on Azazel remained strong. If anything, it tightened, as if that was holding him upright instead of his shaking legs. He started to squeeze, but he felt none of the give he had felt with Blake.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder and Stephen’s voice in his ear, panting and weak but firm. “We’ve got it, Jim. I’m with you.”

In his peripheral vision, Jim saw Stephen raise his hand and his fingers curl into a fist as he got his own psychic grip on the demon. Azazel looked surprised now, and a shiver of something Jim wanted to call fear crossed his face.

“Now!” Stephen shouted.

Jim squeezed with all his might, and though he felt the core contracting, it didn’t break the way Blake’s had. They weren’t going to be able to kill him. All they could do was try to exorcise.

“Get him out,” Jim shouted, yanking his arm up.

“Okay,” Stephen said, his voice a mere whisper.

Jim focused all his will on what he wanted, drawing him out, and Azazel’s eyes widened, becoming yellow not black like the other demons’, and smoke began to creep from his mouth.

“Stephen!” Jim had been trying for a shout but it left him as a groan as weakness and pain spread through him.

“I’ve got him.”

Jim dragged up his hand with stupendous effort, and the cloud of black smoke poured out of Azazel and down through the ground. As the last of it left him, Azazel dropped to his knees.

Jim did the same, but he knees wouldn’t hold him. He flopped forward, his face against the road. He rolled over and saw the clouds of black smoke that were filling the air and funnelling away into the sky. He looked to his left and saw Stephen lying beside him. His nose and ears were bloody. 

“Hey,” he said, his hand crawling crablike towards him to shake his shoulder. He knew he was seriously injured, but Stephen looked worse. “Hold on.”

Stephen’s eyes found his and he licked his lips. “The medicine, Jim,” he said. “It’s…”

“What?” Jim asked, the answer seemingly vitally important despite the fact he knew his life was ebbing out of him with the blood from the wounds on his stomach and arm.

Stephen opened his mouth to answer, then his eyes glazed, and one last breath passed between his parted lips before he became completely still. 

Jim let his own eyes fall closed as weakness washed through him. They had done their best, Azazel was in Hell now and perhaps would stay there long enough for the one he’d chosen to live and die as a free man. He would come back, there would be another generation, more medicine, but Jim had saved some.

Something pressed down on Jim’s stomach and his eyes flew open as he cried out in pain. A face swam in his vision and a voice said, “You’re going to be okay. Just stay awake. I’m a doctor.”

Jim stared at the man above him, the face he had hated along with the demon that had worn it, and breathed, “Azazel?”

The man shook his head and shouted over his shoulder. “Someone help! This kid’s bleeding out!”

Jim let his eyes fall closed again and welcomed the unconsciousness. It took him away from the pain and sound of Azazel’s voice.

It took him away from it all. 

xXx

Sam released Jim’s arm and sank back into his chair, exhausted. He felt that he’d run an endless marathon since his vision and was only now allowed to stop and breathe.

His head was pounding with pain and his muscles were stiff from where he had sat so still for so long. He took a moment to just breathe, to come to grips with what he had seen, and then listened as Jim coughed softly and began to speak.

“I was the only one of my generation that survived what happened in Mount Hammond. The ones that lived long enough to see that day were all killed by the demons. They did their best though, they won in a way. There were eleven exorcisms including Azazel, and the remaining demons fled their meatsuits after Azazel was exorcised. Some of the meatsuits lived, and they were the ones that were sent home for psychiatric care.”

“How did you survive?” Sam asked.

“Azazel’s meatsuit was a surgeon from Texas. He saved me. He kept me alive long enough for someone to find a radio in one of the houses and they called for help. I was airlifted to a hospital. Apparently, it was touch and go for a long time, especially after the… incident… but they saved me.”

Sam nodded and then forced himself to sit upright again to face Jim, to search his face for a lie as he asked, “The medicine they gave you?”

Jim sighed. “Yes, the medicine. I would…”

He cut off as Sam’s phone began to ring. Sam picked it up, seeing Dean’s number displayed and feeling a jolt of shock that he’d let himself forget his vision and what was happening to the people he cared about while listening to Jim’s story and thinking of what it meant for him.

“Dean! Is Clark okay?” he asked.

There was a heavy sigh on the line and Dean said, _“Clark is fine. He saved our asses.”_

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank god.”

 _“That’s not all, Sammy. It got bad. Missouri was hurt.”_ He took a deep breath that crackled the line and said, _“Sammy, it’s not good…”_


	9. Chapter 9

Sam was in Jim’s church, smearing wax polish onto the pews and rubbing at it with a soft cloth until the wood shone. This was mindless, repetitive work, and he was trying to lose himself in it. Mae, Jim’s housekeeper, was working on the pews on the other side of the church, her eyes drifting to Sam occasionally and a frown creasing her brow, but she’d stopped trying to engage him in conversation when he hadn’t responded outside of monosyllables and nods.

Sam was hiding. In the house was Jim, waiting for Sam to gather the courage to continue their conversation from the night before.

After Sam had finished his call with Dean, hearing what had happened to Missouri and what had almost happened to his mother after he’d sent them to Lawrence to save Clark, he’d excused himself and gone upstairs to his room without another word. There was so much he needed to know still, things he needed to ask, but he’d not had the will or energy to ask left after the evening he’d had. He was exhausted and numb to curiosity.

He felt horror for what had happened to the people he cared about in Lawrence, what was still happening as Missouri had been headed into surgery when Dean had called, but everything he had been through, physical and emotional, overpowered everything else and he’d collapsed on the bedclothes and slept until his phone rang again three hours later. Mary had reported that Missouri was out of surgery and they were hopeful for a full recovery. She told them she and Dean were going to stay in Lawrence with Clark to take care of her for a while, and Sam had agreed eagerly. He knew he needed to see them, to tell him what he’d learned from Jim’s story, but that mattered less than Missouri having people around her that cared while she recovered.

He had fallen asleep again until Jim’s voice had woken him, calling him down to eat lunch. Sam skipped the meal, but he had gotten up and showered then escaped the house to the church where he’d found Mae cleaning and offered his help.

He knew he needed to speak to Jim, but he still didn’t feel ready. He had thought he was already at his limit before he’d arrived in Blue Earth, dealing with his grief for Jessica and his horror for everything that had happened and was happening still, but he’d barely scratched the surface.

Missouri could have been killed and probably had some kind of recovery ahead of her—Mary hadn’t known any clear details as they’d been waiting for her to be awake enough to be assessed. And now he had to face the fact that he was part of something far greater than a demon’s plan for one man. He was part of a ‘generation’ of who knew how many people that all had some gift and one of them—please, not him—was destined to lead an army and perhaps destroy the world.

And there was the sickness that had affected the others in Jim’s generation. Was he going to get sick, die, or was he going to live to see it all come to fruition, whatever nightmare goal Azazel had? Was he going to be taken to a town in the middle of nowhere to be dosed with ‘medicine’ that he still didn’t fully understand but knew was something Jim was scared to tell him about? He wasn’t sure which scared him more. They all seemed unbearable. 

The door at the back of the church creaked open, and Jim slipped in. Mae straightened up at once and rubbed the small of her back. She wasn’t a young woman, and Sam guessed spending the time bent over to polish the legs of the pews was hard for her. He should have volunteered to do that part. He hadn’t even thought.

“Pastor Murphy,” she said. “Is there something you need?”

“Yes,” Jim said, striding down the aisle and coming to her. He plucked the tin of wax and cloth out of her hand and said, “I need you to rest. And to call me Jim, as I have asked you to endlessly before.”

She fluttered her hands. “Yes, of course, Pastor, I will.”

Jim chuckled. “Take yourself home, Mae. Sam and I can fend for ourselves for dinner, and Sam is doing a good job with the pews alone. I will help him and have it done in time for Sunday’s service.”

“I really am fine,” she said. “I don’t need to rest. And I have bought a cut of lamb. I was going to make it for dinner. If I don’t do it today, it might spoil.”

Jim placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It will keep until tomorrow. I think I would prefer something simple tonight. Sam and I can handle it. Come back tomorrow afternoon and we can talk about Sunday’s post-service gathering.”

She looked uncertain but untied the apron she was wearing and folded it over her arm. “Of course, Pastor. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” Jim said seriously.

Mae said a quick farewell to Sam and then trotted along the aisle to the door which she slipped through and closed carefully behind her. Sam turned his attention back to his task, hoping that Jim would leave him, but not surprised when he crossed the wide room and tugged the cloth out of Sam’s hand.

Sam felt his heart speeding and he tried to control his breathing to hide his panic. He didn’t want to spiral in front of Jim.

“We need to talk,” Jim said.

“I know.” He just wasn’t sure he was ready to hear what was left to say.

Jim sat down on the pew and placed his hands in his lap. Sam made a performance of closing the tin of wax and setting it into the box of cleaning supplies before sitting down with him.

“How are you feeling?” Jim asked.

Sam shrugged, an impressively nonchalant reaction considering the fact his mind was racing and he wanted to flee. 

“No,” Jim said thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you even know. I overloaded you with information last night. You will need time to process. Unfortunately, we don’t have time for that. We need to act. There’s more to hear and much more to do.”

Sam wanted to know what Jim thought they needed to do, but he had a feeling he already knew. He wasn’t ready to face that yet, so he redirected.

“What happened to you after you passed out?”

“Azazel’s meatsuit saved me. He had been a cardiothoracic surgeon before he was possessed. He kept me alive long enough to get me out of the town. The demons had removed all the phones from the houses, but someone found a radio in the medical clinic and called for help. I was airlifted from Mount Hammond to a hospital in Bangor. I underwent two surgeries to deal with the damage from the knife wound to my gut, one for my arm. They were lucky to save the nerves. The second surgery was because they had to call a halt to the first or lose me on the table. I woke up four days later, just in time for the new hell to descend.”

An icy chill slipped down Sam’s spine. “What happened?”

“They called it a toxic event as they had no other explanation for it. It would have been called withdrawal were it not for the fact they could find nothing in my toxicology screening to explain it.”

Sam gasped. “The medicine.”

“Yes. It was a highly addictive substance, as we ‘juice heads’ should have known from the beginning, and stopping it almost killed me. It did not present as any withdrawal they’d ever seen before, though. When it was over, when I lived, it was never spoken about again by the doctors. I only know as much as I do from a nurse that was entranced by the horror and curiosity of what he had seen. He was fascinated by me.” Jim huffed a laugh. “He was probably right to be. It was fascinating what happened to us from an outsider’s perspective.”

He stared at Sam for a moment, seeming to be waiting for something, and when Sam didn’t speak, he went on.

“I told them I didn’t know what had happened to me. I was the sole survivor of the massacre in Mount Hammond; with my generation and the meatsuits that didn’t make it, there was over twenty dead that day alone. They wanted to know what happened and I was in no state to even begin to create a story. I just knew I could never tell the truth. I feigned total amnesia; told them I didn’t remember even my own name. I chose Murphy for Murphy’s Law—it had all seemed to go wrong for me—and kept Jim to have some connection to my old life, as I knew I could never return to it. When I left the hospital, I created a new life for myself, and never spoke to my family again.”

“Never?” Sam asked, the horror of that thought stealing his breath.

He’d thought he could leave his family behind for Jessica, but he would have been able to see them, to project to them when he needed the connection. He couldn’t imagine losing them completely. It would be hell.

“Never,” Jim agreed. “I saw them, many years later when I dared to visit from a distance, but I couldn’t let them see me. I wasn’t safe. Azazel was in Hell, but many more demons had escaped. They would come for me. All I had protecting me was the fact they would believe me dead with the others. I played on it. I left the hospital and lost myself in the city among the other anonymous souls that had nothing left. I lived on the streets of Maine, New Hampshire, New York, Ohio. I kept going west. I had a vague idea that I would go to California, south this time, and live there.” He smiled grimly. “I was trying to capture something of what I’d once had. I made it to Minnesota, though, and that was where I met Charles. He was a pastor running a soup kitchen out of Minneapolis.”

He stopped and stared down at his hands. Sam noticed that they were lined and pale. He’d always thought of Jim as an old man, even when he was a kid. Knowing that what he had seen of Jim as a young man had to have been in the eighties, 1983 more precisely, he thought Jim was only in his mid-forties. It was the fact he had lived through so much that had aged him. The injury Azazel had left him with, what the medicine had done, had made him an older man than his years. He and Clark were close in years, but while Clark seemed virile and powerful, Jim seemed tired and slow.

“Charles took an interest in me,” Jim went on. “I don’t know whether he could sense something about me, something of my generation that remained, as he was a hunter, too. Whatever it was, he began to spend more time speaking to me, then giving me tasks to do in the kitchen to help. He began to pay me. After only a few months, I was living with him and I had begun to study theology again, though more specifically this time.

I was with him a year before he told me the truth of himself and the world, and he seemed to know even then that I was already aware of some of it. I learned everything that I didn’t learn in Mount Hammond about demons and Hell from him. When he was offered a place here, in Blue Earth, he brought me with him and I became his assistant in the church and the hunt. I trained to be a pastor. When he died, I was ordained and I took over the church. I began to form relationships with other hunters and I shared lore. I met your mother and through her, you, and…”

“You knew what I was?” Sam guessed.

Jim nodded. “I assumed you were one of the next generation we had been trying to protect. I saw no sign of power in you, but the nursery fire on the exact date of your half-year—that some of the others had also had—made me believe you were. I never knew for sure though, Sam, and I never dared to share my suspicions with anyone else in case I was wrong. I am still in so much danger, but when your girlfriend was killed on the anniversary of your father’s death, I thought I was right and had to do something. I didn’t know, not really, until I saw you have that vision. And then, finally, I knew it was time to tell you everything.”

“You should have told my mom,” Sam said, a touch of bitterness in his tone. “Maybe if she’d known…”

She might have been honest with them about her deal and John’s death sooner. Jessica might have been saved. Though Sam couldn’t blame Jim for it all any more than he could blame Mary. He was the one that had ignored what he’d seen. He’d let her down. His heart ached with this knowledge, but he knew he had to move on. He needed to know how he was going to stop this demon.

“Perhaps I should have told her,” Jim agreed. “It’s too late to change that now. Now it is time to act. You know what we have to do, don’t you? Azazel is back and he must be stopped.”

“We’re getting the Colt,” Sam said, unable to hide the hope in his voice, to believe it might not all be on his shoulders.

“I know you’re trying, but he could come for you any day, and you will be helpless as you are now.”

Sam closed his eyes. “You want me to do what you did, use those powers. But I don’t think I can. I’ve never felt anything like that facing a demon. Maybe it was something your generation had and mine didn’t. And you had the medicine. I don’t.”

“No,” Jim agreed. “You don’t. But I believe you would be even more capable than Stephen and I were. My generation were test subjects. You and yours are the perfected experiment. What he gave you was different from us. I believe you were given more. And you have so much more than any of us, Sam. You can astrally project and see memories. You’re telekinetic. You have all the gifts we had separately, but with you, it’s all in one person.”

“I don’t!” Sam snapped. “I’m not a mind reader. I’m not pyrokinetic.”

“Not yet,” Jim murmured.

Sam looked away. He was scared Jim was right. Clark and Missouri both said he had more than they’d seen. Clark had shown him what he had because they were powers he had himself. What if he really was capable of more?

His hands shook as his breaths sped. What if it happened, he got all those gifts, became that far from human? Would he lose himself?

“The medicine,” Sam said weakly, asking the question as a distraction from his tangled thoughts more than because he wanted to know the answer. “What was it?”

Jim stared at him for a long time, his eyes seeming to search for something, and Sam forced himself to look right back at him and not betray his own unease.

“It was blood,” Jim said. “Azazel’s own blood.”

Sam gasped. “They fed you demon blood!”

Jim nodded. “Yes. And… I’m sorry, Sam… I would give anything not to have to tell you this, but you need to know it all to understand your power and capabilities. They gave us blood to add to what was already there. We all, like you, were visited on our six-month birthday, and Azazel did something to us that made us what we were.” He swallowed hard. “He fed us his own blood. We have powers, abilities, a purpose for his plan, because we have all been infected with demon blood that runs through our veins even now.”

“I have demon blood in me?” Sam asked through numb lips, as his mind reeled and pieces fell into place, what Clark had seen in him, what had happened to Jim in that town, what he was now. 

He was dirty, corrupted, he would never be able to wash away that stain; it was _in_ his blood, unreachable. He wasn’t the man he’d always believed he was.

“Yes, Sam,” Jim said quietly. “We both do.”

Sam folded over and started to cry. This time it wasn’t for Jess, not for joy or pain. It was the loss of everything he knew about himself he grieved for. It was despair and hopeless fear for the future, the loss…

He was a monster. 

His whole world has just crumbled at his feet with the knowledge, the truth, of what he was.

How was he going to face his family and tell them about this? Would they treat him differently? Would they be able to handle what he was and what he was becoming?

How much more could he have thrown at him before he broke completely?


	10. Chapter 10

Mary pushed open the door of Missouri’s hospital room and maneuvered her way inside with the coffee cups balanced carefully in her hands. Dean rushed to help, taking two of the cups from her and carrying one over to Clark who was leaning against the wall before going back to the seat he’d taken beside the bed.

Missouri watched longingly as Dean pulled off the lid of his cup and blew on the coffee before sipping it. Neither Mary, Dean or Clark had slept in over 24 hours and they all needed the hit of caffeine. 

“None for me?” Missouri asked, the quirk of her lips indicating that she wasn’t wholly serious.

“Afraid not,” Mary said. “The doctor said you’ve got to wait before they can try you with eating and drinking.”

Missouri sighed and lifted the hand that had the IV connected to the back. “I know, but this stuff isn’t nearly so good as a cup of joe.”

“Strange, because it’s quality painkiller going in there,” Clark said. “You’re the one-woman party in the room.”

Missouri smiled at him. “I’m not sure if it’s a party, but it has taken the headache down a couple notches.” She touched the turban of bandages around her head and said, “Whatever they did in there, it sure hurt.”

“They drained a pretty big bleed and reset a section of fractured skull,” Clark said, the tension in his eyes belying his smile. “I guess that would hurt.”

Mary had seen a different side to Clark in the last twelve hours. He was softer, more gentle with Missouri than she had ever seen with anyone else.

She had always known he was more than the tough and antagonistic face he showed the world, but now she was seeing just how much more. He really did care about Missouri, and as more than just a means to find his demon. She was important to him.

She wondered if Missouri realized it, too. Dean definitely did. She sometimes caught him looking at Clark with surprise in his eyes, confusion. She imagined it was harder for him understand than any of them as he’d had the strongest negative feelings toward Clark before. 

Missouri relaxed back against her pillows and sighed.

Mary appraised her. She was pale and her eyes bore deep shadows, but she still looked infinitely better than she had when they’d first been allowed in to see her after surgery. Then, with the machines that surrounded her, her almost completely motionless body, and the oxygen mask over her face, had made it impossible to miss just how seriously hurt she had been.

She could easily have died from her injuries, but thanks to the EMT’s timely arrival and the skill of the surgeons, she was expected to make a good recovery. Though they had been warned that head injuries were difficult to define and there may be more consequences than they’d seen so far.

For now, Mary was going to enjoy what felt like a miracle of recovery for her friend.

“Do you want us to go so you can sleep?” Dean asked Missouri.

“No,” she said. “I’m fine. Besides, I don’t imagine you’ll be staying long anyway so I should visit with you while I can.”

“We’ll stay as long as you need us,” Mary promised.

Missouri smiled. “And I appreciate it, but we all know there are more important things for you to do than linger at my bedside. You have work to do.”

Mary shot Clark a glance, expecting to see his agreement as he had been the one that was always most focused on the mission while their priorities had been Sam, but he looked neutral.

The door opened and a man came slowly into the room. He was tall with short hair and a tense brow, and Mary guessed at once that he was some relation to Missouri as the resemblance was striking.

“James!” Missouri gasped, sitting forward slightly.

“Hello, Mom,” he said.

“What are you…?” Missouri shook her head. “How did you know I was here?”

The man, James, stepped deeper into the room, his tension giving way to relief and then a carefully guarded expression that was matched by Clark as he examined him. Mary thought he was testing the emotional climate the man had brought in with him.

“I was still listed as your emergency contact after you came in that time you broke your arm. I came as soon as I heard.”

Missouri beamed at him, her pale face transforming into joy that only increased when a little girl with her hair styled in twin braids rushed around him and ran to the bed, her voice pitched high as she said, “Grams!”

Missouri gasped. “Patience!”

The little girl climbed onto the bed and hugged her grandmother. Missouri’s eyes filled with tears as she leaned to embrace her.

“Be careful, Patience,” James cautioned. “Grams isn’t well.”

“I’m well enough for a hug,” Missouri said, stroking her granddaughter’s face. “Look how much you’ve grown.”

“I missed you, Grams,” Patience said.

Missouri wiped at her wet eyes. “I missed you too, sweet child.”

Clark stepped away from the wall and said, “We should give you a little space. They won’t like so many people in here with you.”

Mary nodded her agreement and made her way to the door saying, “We’ll come back later, Missouri.”

Missouri nodded, but Mary was willing to bet that she hadn’t taken in what she had said. She was completely consumed with the arrival of her son and granddaughter.

Mary knew only a little of what had happened between them, that Missouri had let her son down and that had hurt him, and she could see what it meant to her to have him with her now. She doubted Missouri even felt the headache anymore. She was consumed with joy.

“Dean,” Mary prompted when Dean failed to move from his seat, his eyes fixed carefully on James.

Dean nodded slowly, not looking at her, then got to his feet and said, in what sounded like a warning, “We’ll be close.”

They filed out of the room and walked together off of the neurology ward to the ground floor where there was a seating area in an enclosed garden room. Mary sank down into a seat and Clark did the same then looked up at Dean who was still on his feet.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Clark asked. “Need a cushion?”

Mary frowned at him. She had known Clark would return to his usual self with Dean sooner or later, but she had hoped for later. He’d been so different since Missouri had been hurt.

Dean narrowed his eyes at him and sat down then asked, “What’s going on with that James?”

“’That ‘James’ is Missouri’s son,” Clark said.

“Yeah, I know, but what was with the attitude? Is Missouri going to be okay with him alone?”

Clark sipped his coffee and considered a moment before saying, “Yeah, I think so. I don’t know what the deal is between them, obviously something big went wrong, but he was damn worried when he arrived and relieved when he saw her. He’s still holding onto a lot of resentment, but I think he’ll settle.” He nodded. “And if he doesn’t do it on his own, that kid will do it for him. She loves Missouri and he loves her. He’s not going to drag her away. This is a good thing for Mosely. She needed it.”

Dean nodded, looking reassured, and said, “Do you know what happened between them, Mom?”

“Not really. She told him something that hurt him, something to do with her relying on her gift; she didn’t tell me what. She was really missing him though, that was obvious. I think it’ll do her a lot of good to see him again.”

Clark grinned and said, “Yeah, the healing power of family is great for a serious head injury.”

Dean opened his mouth to answer, surely an angry retort, but Mary cut him off by saying, “We should call Sam, give him an update.”

Dean’s eyes moved from Clark and became softer. “I’ll do it.” He took his phone from his pocket and dialed then lifted it to his ear. There was a long time of silence, his frown deepening, and then he lowered it and said, “Voicemail.”

“He might be sleeping,” Mary said. “I don’t imagine he got much more rest than us last night.”

“Can you check in on him, Clark?” Dean asked, the request posed in a polite tone that didn’t match his narrowed eyes.

“Sure.”

Clark set down his coffee and glanced around for onlookers then took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stilled. Mary watched him carefully, still uneasy with the almost perfect stillness of him when he did this—though it was not as disturbing as when she saw Sam doing it. He seemed to be gone a long time before his eyes opened and he sighed.

“Is he awake?” Dean asked. “Did you speak to him?”

“Yeah,” Clark said, and there was something strange in his tone. “He seems a little… You should probably go see him.” He frowned a moment, and Mary saw stress in his eyes. “He needs you.”

Mary’s heart lurched as she took in his words and expression. He was worried which meant she was panicked. Clark didn’t show concern like this often.

Clark had been the one to suggest that Sam go away, have space from them, and she believed that was more than the fact he wanted them focused on the Colt. Now he was sending them to him, so what had he seen?

“What’s wrong with him?” Dean asked.

“He didn’t say,” Clark said. “But he’s not in a good place, and not just in the I-just-saw-my-dead-girlfriend-die-again way. There’s something going on. I can’t see auras when I’m projecting, but Sam’s face…” He tilted his head to the side and said, “I think he really needs you Mother Mary, and a visit from his hand-holding brother would be good, too.”

Dean was on his feet, staring expectantly at Mary who was still sitting. “Mom?”

Mary stood. “We’ll go now. We should call Bobby, too. He’s closer and can get there faster.”

“Good idea,” Clark said, further alerting Mary to the fact something was really wrong with her youngest son. “I’ll stick around here a little longer, keep an eye on Mosely.”

Mary thanked him and walked with Dean towards the exit, her heart’s pace fast and her breaths coming short. Clark was sending them to Sam, which was worrying enough, but he hadn’t mentioned the Colt at all while doing it. With his laser focus on that and The Demon lately, it was even more telling that he’d seemed to have forgotten.

They had a long drive ahead of them and they had no idea what they were going to find when they got there. 

xXx

Sam was in the church again. He’d come in after dinner to finish polishing the pews while Jim dealt with church business in the living room. He wanted space from him, but he’d found himself sitting on the pew with the cloth and tin of wax in his hand half an hour ago, and he hadn’t moved since.

He couldn’t make sense of his thoughts or anything happening around him. Since Jim had told him about the blood, his mind seemed to have been stuffed with cotton and his stomach filled with lead.

Clark had appeared that afternoon, and Sam had barely heard a word of the update he’d given him on Missouri’s condition. Sam thought he’d said something about a son, but he couldn’t be sure. Clark hadn’t stayed long, and Sam had been relieved to see him go again. He could return to the haze of shock again which was infinitely more comfortable than the pain and fear that he had felt immediately after Jim’s explanation of ‘medicine’. 

The one emotion that broke through to him was fear. He was scared of what had happened, what he’d heard, and what it meant for him and the people he loved—the people that had loved him. He had no idea how long that love would remain when they heard the truth.

And they had to hear it.

This knowledge might give them an advantage in the hunt for The Demon; it might help them to fight for him and others when they were taken as Sam was sure they would be.

He didn’t know when it would happen, but he was sure a time was going to come in which he would find himself in an emptied town somewhere, in a dead family’s home, with the other people like him. They would be gathered, dosed with blood, and then, finally, they would find out what The Demon wanted them to do.

Jim believed they were the perfected generation, they’d had more blood, though how he knew that Sam had no idea. If Jim was right, they would be taken to that place and it would start at last.

The only possible defense was the Colt, and they still didn’t have it. They were looking, he knew the rest of his family had committed everything to it, but they hadn’t been lucky yet, and Sam didn’t know if that luck would ever come. It seemed to him that all good fortune had abandoned them in the last six months.

He set down the cloth and tin then took his phone from his pocket. His finger hovering over the buttons. He didn’t know who to call, who to ask to come. He would like to call Bobby, he would be the easiest to speak to as he was the least verbose, at least he was since Jessica died and Dean became more emotionally available. But he wasn’t with Mary and Dean; he was still in Sioux Falls and they were in Lawrence. He could call them and ask them to come, too, but they would know something was wrong if they heard his voice and it would make the long drive harder for them.

He would have to ask Bobby to call them, to frame it a need for company.

His fingers started to dial and then he froze as the door to the church opened. He didn’t turn, knowing it was Jim and that he was going to be expecting something of Sam, some strength now he’d had time to recover from his tears. But when the footsteps reached him and Sam forced himself to look up, it was Bobby standing in front of him.

“Bobby? What are you doing here?”

“We heard you might need us,” he said. “Your mom and Dean are on their way.”

Sam closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath. Despite the fact he knew he had to face this, had been on the point of bringing them here himself, he wasn’t ready.

“Are you okay?” Bobby asked.

Sam shook his head.

“You want to talk about it?”

Sam wiped at his eyes that were growing wet and said, “Jim told me some stuff, awful stuff that we all need to know, and I’m…”

Bobby appraised him a moment and his face fell. “You’re scared.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Sam whispered.

Bobby tugged the phone out of his hand and set it down on the pew and hauled him to his feet. He put his arms around Sam and cradled the back of his head with a hand as Sam relaxed into his hold and began to shake with sobs.

Bobby didn’t say anything; he didn’t attempt to soothe. He just held Sam and let him release his pain without judgment. And then, when Sam had calmed, he held him at arm’s length and said, “Whatever this is, we’re all here for it. We’re going to fix it. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Sam lied. “I know.”

Bobby nodded and looked around the church. “You doing chores in here?”

Sam smiled slightly. “I’m supposed to be doing the pews.”

Bobby picked up the tin and cloth and said, “Then I’ll help you out. If we’re both doing it together, it won’t take so long, and maybe we’ll be done by the time your mom and Dean get here.” He smeared wax onto the cloth and started to polish the arm of the pew. “And then we can fix whatever it is that’s got you upset.”

Sam watched him for a moment, seeing the calm expression on the man he loved like a father, and then he retrieved a cloth for himself from the bucket and began to work.


	11. Chapter 11

“And I woke up four days later in the hospital,” Jim finished then raised his head and looked at Sam who gave him a small nod.

Dean leaned back in his seat and blew out a long breath. His mind was reeling and he was finding it hard to make sense of his thoughts. The fact that it had happened to Jim, one of his oldest friends, was incredible and would have stolen his breath even if it wasn’t for the fact this all connected to his brother. The idea this could be Sam’s future too made each indrawn breath he was able to get feel like a triumph.

Jim had told his tale for what felt like hours, and they had all listened in silence. For some of it, Sam had stared down at the tabletop, his expression neutral, and other parts had made him close his eyes and grimace. Dean, Mary, and Bobby had been the ones to allow the emotions they were feeling play across their faces, reacting to each word and revelation spoken as it was released into the air. 

Now Jim was finished, Dean didn’t know what to say or do. Bobby seemed just as stunned into inaction. It was only Mary that found her voice, her face flushed with anger as she glared at Jim.

“You knew! As long as you have known me, since you heard the story of John dying in Sam’s nursery, you knew Sam was a part of it, and you never told me!”

Jim stared back at her impassively. “I suspected. I believed I was right when I heard of Jessica’s death, but I knew nothing for sure until I saw Sam have a vision.”

Mary slapped her hand down on the table. “You should have told me!”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Do you really think so? I’ve kept my own secrets all these years, and we all know you did, too. Why should Jim tell us this… awful… story when it wasn’t ours to hear?”

“It was about Sam!” Mary shouted, her face flushed with anger.

“I didn’t know that for sure,” Jim said.

Sam raised his head and looked at his mother. “He was protecting himself, like you were when you lied to us. You hid what you’d done and what happened to dad to protect yourself. Jim hid what had happened to himself for the same reason. I get that.”

Mary stared at him, tears sparkling at the corners of her eyes and her color fading so she was now too pale. “Sam…”

Sam held up a hand. “I don’t want to talk about that again. It’s done. You lied. Jim did the same, hid his story, because that was his right. It was his hell to hide.”

Dean looked between his mother and Sam, knowing they both needed his comfort but not knowing which of them deserved it more. He went with his instinct, the one that he knew needed it most. “Sammy’s right. And Jim’s secret didn’t have the same consequences yours did.”

Mary looked away and wiped her eyes. “Okay. I understand. You’re right.”

Dean didn’t think she really believed that but she was giving up her anger, at least hiding it, and that was what mattered. There were more important things for them to say and do than throw blame at Jim.

“Do you still have these powers, Jim?” Bobby asked. “Can you exorcise a demon like that?”

Jim nodded. “Yes. I am still able, though I don’t do it often. I have spent the last twenty-two years avoiding them when I could. I was in danger from them. I changed my name and life after I woke up in the hospital, I hid, but sometimes I still had to face them. I exorcised the ones I did find.”

“Can you do it to Azazel?” Mary asked, not quite able to keep the eagerness from her voice.

Jim heaved a deep breath. “I don’t know. It took Stephen and me to exorcise him, and Stephen was the most practiced and powerful of us all. I don’t know if I could do it again alone.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Dean leaned to the side and bumped his shoulder with his fist, offering the only comfort he thought Sam would accept. He wanted to give more, to hug Sam and assure him that it was all going to be okay, but he didn’t know that for sure, and he didn’t think Sam would let himself be held. 

“What about this ‘medicine’?” Mary asked. “Did you find out what it was? Do you still take it?”

Sam flinched and shot Jim an imploring look that he met with sadness.

“Sam?” he said gently.

Sam seemed to be waging some internal conflict. His jaw clenched and his eyes hardened. Dean waited for him to speak, to tell them what he knew, because he was sure that Sam at least knew the answer to the ‘medicine’.

Sam rubbed at his temples as if staving off pain and then spoke in a rush. “It was blood, demon blood. The Demon had them fed his own blood to power him and protect them.”

Bobby leaned back in his seat and blew out a breath. “Demon blood.”

Jim nodded. “Yes. And in answer to your other question, no. I don’t have access to it anymore so I don’t take it. I believe that I was given enough in Mount Hammond to protect me from the sickness. It was enough in addition to what was…”

He glanced at Sam again who nodded and whispered, “To what was already there.”

“What was already there?” Dean asked blankly.

Sam spoke with his eyes closed, as if he couldn’t bear to see their reactions to what he said next. “There was already demon blood in Jim because he was fed it when he was a baby, just like I was. That was why he was in my nursery the night Dad died; The Demon came to feed me his blood.” He opened his eyes and fixed them on Mary, watching her face carefully. “I have demon blood in me.”

Dean held in a cry of shock with effort and clenched his hands into fists under the table. The fact that monster could have done that to Sam… violated a baby like that… was awful but what was worse was the pain he could see in his brother as he made his confession—because that was what he knew Sam thought it was, as if it was something he’d done that had to be shared.

“You don’t have demon blood in you,” Bobby said carefully, his pale face showing his shock but his tone even. “Neither of you do. That was years ago. The blood would have left you within days of the dose, the last one for you, Jim. It’s gone.”

“But it’s changed me,” Sam said.

Bobby nodded. “It has, there’s obviously some kind of mutation from it, but it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“It’s not,” Mary agreed, her voice soft. “I know you, Sam, I’m your mother, and I know that you’re thinking this makes you different, bad. It does make you different, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s just another part of you like the color of your hair and the shape of your eyes. It’s something else I love.”

“You love it?” Sam looked aghast. “Mom, I’m a… freak!”

“No,” Mary said firmly. “You’re my son. I love all the parts of you, even the parts that were done to you because I failed to protect you from them.”

Sam bowed his head and Dean saw a tear drip onto the tabletop. He hated to see Sam cry, it made him feel like he was burning deep inside, and he couldn’t not try to help now, even if Sam rejected it.

He got to his feet and moved around the table to Sam then pulled him up and wrapped his arms around him. Sam resisted for a moment and then seemed to crumple against him. Dean held him tight, holding him up with one hand and the other gripping the back of his head, holding it against his shoulder so Sam’s fast and shaky breaths rushed against his neck.

“You’re not a freak, Sammy,” he whispered into his hair. “You’re still my pain in the ass little brother. Nothing that you can do or can be done to you will ever change that.”

Sam made a small noise of pain and Dean held him even tighter so he could feel Sam’s heart racing against his own chest.

“Dean’s right,” Bobby said. “It changes nothing for us, Sam, and it should change nothing for you. You did nothing wrong. You’re the victim in all this. And we’re going to fix it for you.”

Sam clung to Dean and then moved away from him and dropped back into his chair. “How do we fix this if it’s some… mutation?”

“We can’t fix what was done,” Bobby said, and Sam flinched. “But we stop the monster that did it to you before it can lay another hand on you. You are not going to end up in some crazy town; you won’t be a victim again. We _will_ find the Colt and stop it before anymore can happen to you.”

Jim cleared his throat and spoke apologetically. “That might not be enough.”

Dean glared at him as he dragged a chair beside Sam’s and sat down close enough that Sam’s shoulders brushed him as he breathed.

“It’s all we’ve got,” Mary said. “And it will be enough. We’re close now. We have a name.”

“And that might work,” Jim said. “You might be able to find the gun and Azazel, you might have your chance, but how are you going to take your shot when he can actually escape you in a blink of an eye. A demon of his caliber can vanish and appear at will. It will need to be held while you shoot it, and it’s not stupid enough to be trapped.” 

“How are we supposed to hold it then?” Dean asked, then quickly wished to recall the question as Sam drew a breath and answered with a wrecked look on his face.

“We’ll need to use our powers.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “Like Clark did with Missouri?” Seeing Jim’s confusion, she gave him a brief explanation of how Clark had held the demon telekinetically while he exorcised it. “Clark can do it. Sam doesn’t need to be near the demon.” She beamed. “Yes! We can do this!”

“I don’t think we can,” Sam said quietly. “We can’t be sure anyway. Clark is strong, but this is _The_ Demon. Clark might not be strong enough. We know Jim and Stephen could do it between them, so we have to do that again.”

“Stephen’s dead,” Bobby said, his eyes narrowed.

“But I’m not,” Sam said. “I can use my powers on him, too. Jim will have to teach me, but if he does, we can do it together like he did last time. I can hold him and one of you can take the shot. Or we can…”

“Or you can exorcise him with your mind?” Mary guessed. “Kill him even?”

“Yes,” Sam said.

Dean almost pulled away from Sam as the shock rolled over him, but he forced himself to not move. Sam didn’t need to feel rejected. And he wasn’t rejecting him. He was just shocked.

“You can’t,” Mary whispered. “It’s too…”

“Unnatural?” Sam asked.

“No,” she whispered, her face stricken. “It’s too dangerous. You don’t need to be anywhere near that demon, Sam. And the strain it would put on you is incredible. You could hurt yourself.”

“I could be even more hurt if I don’t do it,” Sam said. “I will be taken some place and fed blood. And then, if I’m lucky enough, I’ll survive long enough to do whatever it is The Demon wants, destroy the world maybe. I won’t do that, not for anything, which means I will die anyway. Jim thinks I am the one The Demon wants, the ‘chosen’ one. If that’s me, everything he’s done so far will seem like nothing. I have to train these powers like I did the others, learn to control them and then use them on him.”

Mary shook her head wordlessly.

“He’s right,” Dean said, hating that he needed to say the words as Sam doing this was the last thing he wanted, but he believed it was the right thing. “He has to train this new power.”

Sam needed to do it for himself and them all. He was defenseless now. If the demon came, they had no weapon that could stop him. Sam would be taken and they would probably never find him again, or not until The Demon wanted them to. Mastering the power would protect Sam and give him some form of control.

Everything had been taken out of Sam’s hands for months. He had been slammed with the loss of Jessica twice; he had discovered he was psychic and trained to protect himself for their benefit; he’d learned he was part of some demon’s plan and that he had been dosed with blood, changed, as a baby. This would give him back control. It would give him a chance to fight for himself.

Mary shot him an incredulous look, but Bobby nodded. “Dean’s right, he does. I hate that you have to do it, Sam, I don’t want you putting that kind of pressure on yourself, but if this is what you need, I’m with you.”

Sam looked at him gratefully and then turned to Mary. “I am doing this, Mom. I’d like you to support me, but I understand if you can’t.”

His earnestness, his need, seemed to reach Mary and she nodded. “I understand. I’m scared and I hate that you’ve been put in a position that you have to do this because of what I did, but I see you have to.”

Sam stared at her for a moment and then said, “It’s not your fault. You saved Dad with that deal, and you didn’t know what The Demon would do to me. You should have told us, but I think I get it now; I didn’t want to tell you about the blood because I was worried about what you’d say and do. You felt the same. I don’t blame you for any of it anymore.”

Mary blinked rapidly, sending tears streaking down her cheeks, and then she swallowed hard and got to her feet and rushed at Sam. He didn’t even have time to get out of his seat before she was draped over him, hugging him tight and leaning her cheek against his crown.

“Thank you, Sam,” she whispered.

Sam patted her arm where it was against held his chest and said, “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too,” she said, her voice cracked. “You and Dean are my world, and I love you so much. And we’re going to make this right. If you being a part of this is what you need, I’ll support you. We will find the Colt and I will shoot The Demon dead while you hold him.” She pressed a kiss to his hair and then straightened up and laid a hand on his shoulder and Dean’s. “We’re doing this together, you and me, Dean and Bobby, as a family.” She looked at Bobby. “Right?”

Bobby cleared his throat gruffly and nodded. “Yes. As a family.” 

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He hated what was happening and what it was going to take to end it, but he believed they would.

The Demon was going to die.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam’s family had left for home a day ago, only having stayed for a day after Jim had shared his story and Sam had shared his decision to train, and Sam was both missing them and relieved they were gone. He felt freer now, it was easier to breathe, but he wished he still had their comfort close. They had saved him from the horror and pain he’d felt when he’d learned the truth of himself and his apparent destiny with their love and support.

He was sitting down in Jim’s kitchen, poking at the bowl of cereal he’d poured himself, when he heard the front door open and close and Jim calling his name.

“I’m here,” Sam called back.

Jim came into the room, dressed in a jacket and jeans, the kind of clothes he usually saved for working outside. Sam had assumed he was in the church when he woke and found the house empty, and now he wondered where he had been.

“I have a demon,” Jim said.

Sam dropped his spoon into the bowl with a clatter. Embarrassed by the reaction, he flushed and cleared his throat. “Okay. That’s great.”

Jim sat down opposite him and gave him a sympathetic look. It was strange for Sam to look at Jim these days and know who he had once been. The soft smile and furrowed brow on his face now were the man that he had known for years. But Sam knew what he was capable of and what he had done at twenty-two, and he couldn’t help but compare the polar opposites.

“I know this is going to be hard,” Jim started.

“It’s fine,” Sam said. “It’s what I’ve got to do, and I’m glad we can start already. How did you find one?”

“I went to a crossroads. I still have some ability to compel demons that I developed in Mount Hammond. By trapping it first, I was able to get warded handcuffs that would stop it smoking out onto it and stow it in the trunk. It’s in the farmhouse. Whenever you’re ready, we can go.”

Sam’s heart quickened its pace as he got to his feet and dumped his remaining cereal. He stared out of the window for a moment, looking out over the grass between Jim’s house and the church, and then nodded and said, “I’m ready.”

Jim walked back through the hall and Sam followed, grabbing a jacket before stepping out into the still-cool spring air. They crossed the neat yard and then met the flower bed border that separated Jim’s land from the abandoned farmhouse track.

Sam felt nervous as they walked, knowing what was waiting for him in that once fearful place of his childhood. He and Dean had believed there were ghosts there, but now Sam knew it contained something worse than a spirit.

Jim went ahead up the steps and into the house, and Sam went after him at a slower pace. He heard a voice before he was inside, and his heart hammered. The mocking tone, the gravel, was a demon.

He took a breath and then went through the door Jim had disappeared through into what was once the kitchen. The furniture and appliances had been stripped, but the pipes and valves were still there. The walls were a dull black with mold in places, and other places still bore the peeling wallpaper that had faded to a dull pink from the red he thought it would once have been.

On the cracked linoleum floor was a black painted devil’s trap and standing in the center of it was a man with cropped blonde hair wearing a smart navy suit. Sam had never seen a crossroads demon before, but he was unsurprised to see the red eyes in place of the black he’d seen in others as he’d read about them.

The man grinned as Sam came in and said, “This must be Junior. I can see the resemblance.”

“He’s not my father,” Sam growled.

His father was John Winchester and he wouldn’t let the demon even imply that it could be anyone else. He was proud to be John’s son. Bobby was as close as he’d ever known to a father, but his life came from John and he would never forget that.

“No?” the demon asked. “That’s weird. There’s definitely something about you both that…” He shook his head. “I must be wrong.”

Sam wondered if he could somehow see the taint in them both that came from The Demon. Maybe demons were able to sense what had changed in them as like called to like. Sam wasn’t a demon, nor was Jim, but there was something they shared that the demon might sense.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” the demon asked. “I’m guessing it’s not a deal as you’re not going about softening me up the right way. My deals are usually made with a polite—sometimes desperate—request and a kiss. I’ve got to wonder what you’re looking for.”

“A test subject,” Jim said, his jaw tightening.

Sam glanced at him quickly, his eyes quickly returning to the threat in the room, and then he looked back as he saw what was wrong. Jim, the man that had spoken comfortingly and understandingly only a matter of minutes before was gone. This man wore the same face he had when he’d exorcised Azazel. He was a completely different person. He made Sam uncomfortable. It was like seeing Mary or Dean with demon black eyes. The difference was stark, wrong.

“A test for what?” the demon asked.

“We don’t need you to speak for this,” Jim said, flicking a hand at the demon whose teeth snapped together and he made a strange choking sound. He struggled for a moment and then glared; his mouth pressed into a thin line. Jim turned to Sam, those hard eyes still chilling, and said, “You need to _see_ the demon before you can touch it.”

“Like an aura?” Sam asked.

“Almost exactly that. Unlike an aura, it won’t surround the demon but form his body. The focus point is the chest, the soul, and that’s what you need to reach for. Have you much experience with auras?”

Sam nodded. For a moment he was tempted to look for Jim’s, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to see what was there.

“Then try what you would usually do and look,” Jim said.

Sam took a breath and tried to relax. It was easier than ever to do now, and he guessed the time he’d spent training his powers with the shapeshifter had enhanced them, made them easier to harness.

The demon’s shape fogged for a moment, and Sam puzzled over it before realizing that it was the true demon he was seeing. It was as Jim said, centered in the chest, but the black smoke ebbed and flowed across his whole body. Sam sought the darkest place, almost exactly over its heart, and tried to reach for it the way he did when he used telekinesis. A spike of pain speared his head and he staggered back a step.

Jim placed a hand on his back to steady him and Sam fought the urge to pull away from him.

“It hurts,” Jim said. “I remember. It will get easier, though. The more you do it, the better control you will have. I have painkillers in the house if you need them.”

“No,” Sam said, taking a step closer to the demon both to return to his task and remove himself from Jim’s touch. “I’ve got it.”

The demon’s eyes were bright with amusement and his lips curved into a wide smile. Sam was sure he would be taunting if Jim not stolen his ability to speak.

“Try brushing against it,” Jim said. “Don’t grip, just feel it. That will be easier. And don’t try to pull it yet. We don’t want this demon exorcised, Sam. We need him here, and…” He bit his lip.

“And what?” Sam asked.

“And we can’t exorcise him. If he is sent back to Hell, he will eventually reach the upper levels where he will find Azazel and tell him what happened here. If Azazel knows what you’re doing, he will come for you. He believes his plan is being served now with you among your family still, but if he knew you were training to do this, he would act. Neither of us can risk him coming for us.”

“He would kill you,” Sam stated.

“He would do worse,” Jim said heavily. “And he would do it in a heartbeat. He has no need for me now that he has a perfected generation, and I was the one that helped to send him back to Hell. I have had many nightmares imagining what he would do to me if he knew I was alive. And he’d come for you, too, take you from your family, and your own nightmare would begin the way mine did.”

“But what about the demons you’ve faced since? Wouldn’t one of them tell him?”

“No,” Jim said. “They can’t.”

Sam gasped as he realized what Jim had done. “You killed them? The meatsuits, too?”

Jim looked at him, his eyes betraying no emotion. “I did what I had to do, as will you. Find the demon again and touch it. Tell me what you feel.”

Shocked by what Jim was saying but knowing he had to keep going in order to master this and save himself, he fixed his eyes on the demon and reached for it carefully, feeling the brush against his hand in a way that made him cringe as much as the pain in his head.

This was what he had to do. 

xXx

Sam was lying on his bed in the guest room, his hand pressed to his forehead and his fingers digging into the flesh in an attempt to offset the pain that was pounding there. He was exhausted and lacking the triumphant reaction Jim had shown when Sam finally called an end to the day as he couldn’t see straight through the pain.

Unlike Clark, who would have pushed for more, Jim had accepted Sam’s explanation that he wanted to rest and had informed him that he would wake him for dinner. Sam had escaped upstairs, passing Mae in the hall as she came in and headed to the kitchen to prepare their meal, only exchanging a brief greeting with him.

Jim was different from Clark in so many ways. Clark pushed Sam, told him there was more if he would just try, but Jim encouraged gently and advised.

The biggest difference was who they were as men. Clark was open in his nature, he goaded and needled but also showed support in his own way. Sam never felt that he was hiding anything from him, not since he’d told them the story of Ruby at least.

Jim always seemed so approachable and gentle, a kind man that Sam would once have gone to with a problem, but he thought now that was an act and the real Jim was the one he’d seen in the farmhouse. He had killed demons and the people they were possessing. It was to protect his own life, Sam knew, and he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t do the same thing if he was in Jim’s position, but it was not the man he’d always known that could do that. 

Sam wasn’t sure how comfortable he could be around him now that he had seen both sides of him. Not that it really mattered. He was here for the duration. Until he had mastered these new abilities, he was going to have to stay. And that was going to take time. While it physically hurt and drained Sam to do it, he would have to keep practicing. Jim said it would get easier with time, just as Clark said his other powers would, which meant more time in that kitchen with that demon and Jim.

He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. He hoped the painkillers he’d taken would kick in soon, as he needed to call home and speak to his family, and if they heard him now, they would know he was suffering. He didn’t want to worry them more than he already had.

His thoughts drifted to Jessica, bringing with them the ache of grief in his chest to meet the ache in his head. He wondered what she would think of what he was and what he was doing.

The shapeshifter version had supported and encouraged him, wanting him to master them, but it had been The Demon’s will that drove her. What would the real woman he’d loved say if she knew?

He wanted to believe that she would understand and love him still, but he couldn’t be sure. And he would never know. She was gone now, not a ghost, just a memory, and he could never speak to her again.

“Whoa, you look like crap,” a voice said.

Sam rolled over and sat up quickly as he saw Clark’s standing at the end of his bed. It wasn’t his physical self, Sam knew, as he looked strangely fragile and out of focus. He was projecting here to see Sam.

“Thanks,” Sam said.

Clark grinned. “You’re welcome. Apart from feeling like death warmed up, how are you doing? I hear you had some pretty heavy stuff dropped on you since I saw you last.”

Sam nodded. He’d told Mary that Clark needed to know everything they knew, and he’d asked her to pass the information on in his place. From the look in Clark’s eyes and his words, he knew that had happened.

“I’m okay, I guess,” Sam said. “You?”

He watched Clark carefully, wanting to see if he could see signs of his true feelings. Clark _hated_ demons and what they did, and Sam wasn’t sure what his feelings would be to what they now knew Sam was, what had been done to him.

Clark shrugged. “I’m okay, I guess. Had a long afternoon with Momma Mary and Dean. I got the info dump from your mom with a little psychokinesis and that took a while to sort through with them. I’m more curious about you really. Since you had some pretty strong feelings about what we were doing before, I’ve got to wonder how you’re feeling about being able to use these powers on demons.”

Sam could see no judgment in Clark. If anything, there was concern that seemed out of place.

“We started with a demon today,” he said. “I was just seeing and feeling it, but it was pretty brutal. It hurts as much as the visions did in the beginning.”

“Yeah, that’s great, but how do you _feel_ about it?”

Sam frowned. “You want to talk feelings?”

“Yes. For once, I do.”

Confused and feeling the surrealness of the moment, Sam considered and said, “I don’t like it, but at the same time, it feels good to have something that _I_ can do to protect myself. I was worried about what everyone else would think about it, but they handled it. They still love me.”

Clark made a retching sound. “They _love_ you? Yeah, shocker. It’s the whole saintly love thing I told you about. I don’t think there’s anything that you could do that would turn them off of you. They’re all behind it now, though Mother Mary is putting out all kinds of conflict when they talk about it.” He held up a hand when Sam’s face fell. “But that’s not conflict about you. It’s all about the fact she can’t do it for you, so don’t get twisted up thinking she’s having doubts about her baby boy.”

“I’m not,” Sam said. “I believe what she told me, what she showed me.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Okay, that’s enough of the love stuff. Much more I’ll lose my lunch, and since it was Darling Dean that fixed it, I better hang onto it. I don’t see him fixing me a sandwich again any time soon.”

“If you weren’t such an asshole to him, maybe he would,” Sam said.

Clark grinned. “Yeah, maybe, but we’re not going for miracles today.” He clapped his hands together. “I’m heading off. Just wanted to check in and now I’m going to have myself a drink.”

“Thanks for coming, Clark.”

He snorted. “Yeah, now I’ve seen you’re okay I can sleep at night. Might even be able to put the worry beads away.” He winked. “I’ll see you soon. Keep up the hard work.”

“Wait!” Sam said. “What about Missouri? How is she?”

Clark grimaced. “Disgustingly happy. I had to get out of there as the whole family dynamic was getting to me. Her son is sticking around until she’s out of the hospital and that grandkid is absolutely disgusting—dimples, smile and general cutesy fairy crap.”

“But she’s okay?” Sam asked.

Clark nodded, his face becoming serious again. “Doctors say she’s damn lucky. They don’t think there’s going to be any long-term damage. She’s just going to be dealing with headaches while her skull heals.”

“Because of you.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “You mean the fact I cracked her skull saving your momma’s life?”

“No!” Sam said quickly. “I mean she’s lucky because you saved her from the demon. And you saved my mom. That was pretty incredible. Thank you.”

Clark held up a hand. “That’s enough of that crap. You want to thank me, bring me a bottle of Jack to our next lesson.”

“Lesson?”

“Yeah, you’re working with demons now, I know, but I want to get my hands on you after and see what you’re really capable of. Tapping this keg might bring all kinds of new things to the fore. I want to know what they are.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want anything else. He was already dealing with too much.

“We’ll see,” he said.

Clark nodded, a wicked glint in his eyes. “We will. See you, Sammy.”

He disappeared and Sam flopped back onto the bed with his arm covering his eyes. He was tired and sore, though the painkillers were now taking the edge off, and yet again, overwhelmed.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean leaned back in his seat and rubbed his stomach. “Damn, that was good.”

Sam looked up from his own half-finished sandwich and raised an eyebrow. “You’re done? That was a foot-long, Dean.”

Dean grinned. “And it was a good one. No regrets.”

Sam shook his head, smiling slightly at the ease of the moment. When Dean said he was coming to Blue Earth, Sam had been worried that he was going to want to see what he was doing there, witness him working on a demon. Dean hadn’t even suggested it though. He’d just told Sam he was hungry and that they should go get lunch.

Sam gained a lot of control in the month he had been training with Jim, and they were both confident that he would be able to exorcise if he let himself, but they hadn’t tested the theory because of the risk the demon posed to them both. Instead, Sam lifted the smoke almost to the demon’s mouth and then released it.

What he did caused the demon a lot of pain, and he had struggled with that at first, feeling guilty, but Jim’s frequent reminders that it was the demon, not the person it was possessing that was hurting, slowly began to have an impact until he could hear the demons groans and see its twisted expression and not want to relent.

The pain he was suffering himself was less now, too. Jim was right; the more he practiced, the easier it was. He still suffered headaches and it was mentally exhausting to do it for hours at a time, but that was growing less each day. Sam thought a time would come in which he could do it without pain the way Jim could.

Gripping a demon telekinetically and holding it in place was easy now. It was a combination of what he’d learned from Clark and practiced with the shapeshifter being strengthened. He thought he would be able to hold Azazel when it was time if he had Jim’s help. He felt physically ready to face him. Mentally he wasn’t so sure. The Demon had done so much to him in his life, he had stolen so much—Jessica twice. Standing and facing the creature that had done that was a daunting prospect.

Dean sipped his soda and then set the paper cup down and gave Sam an appraising look.

Sure that a question was coming and wanting a moment to prepare, Sam took a large bite of his sandwich.

Perhaps knowing what he was doing—Dean had always known him best—Dean smiled and said, “So, how’s everything going with the…you know?”

Sam chewed slowly until continuing would have looked stupid and then swallowed. “It’s going okay.”

Dean held up his hands. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just want you to know you can if you want. I’m listening to you. I’m here.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty touchy-feely for you.”

Dean grimaced. “Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? It didn’t sound like that when I was practicing it.”

Sam laughed. “You practiced?”

Dean flushed. “This isn’t easy for me, man. I do want you to know I’m here, we all are, but I don’t want to push and…” He shook his head. “I’m trying. This is all new to me.”

Sam smiled and set down his sandwich. “I appreciate it, Dean. I know this is hard for all of us, not just me. Honestly, it’s going better than I hoped. I am stronger than I thought I could be and I’m dealing with the rest, the blood thing, since I told you all about it and it was handled.”

Dean frowned. “Did you doubt how we’d handle it?”

“Yes,” Sam replied honestly. “I expected... I don’t know… more shock really. I mean, Clark said there was something in my blood that blocked me when we first started training, and there had to be a reason The Demon came, but I never imagined it would be this. I don’t know how I’d have handled it if it was you or Mom that had been dosed. It wouldn’t change how much I loved you, but it might have made it harder to show it.”

Dean considered him for a moment and then grinned. “I’m obviously the better man then.”

Sam nodded seriously. “You are.”

Dean punched his arm, perhaps harder than he’d intended as Sam jostled to the side and he apologized. “We’re equally awesome,” he said and then became serious. “I’ve got the opposite feeling to you. I don’t know how _you_ are handling it all. I’d have lost my mind. I figure me, Mom, and Bobby have the easiest part of it. We just have to find a gun. You have to actually learn this stuff, face a demon and do your thing. The only other thing we can do is be there for you, even at a distance if that’s what you need, and we’re all going to do that as much as we can.”

Sam stared at his brother for a moment and then ducked his head, embarrassed by the prickle in his eyes. If someone had said a year ago, even six months, that he’d be having this conversation with Dean, he’d have said they were nuts. It wasn’t the topic, though that was a mind-bending enough; it was the fact he and Dean were connecting like this, talking about how they were feeling. That was never the way their relationship worked.

Sam had always been more open with emotion whereas Dean concealed it, but that had been stripped bare for them all and Dean was the one that was coping with it best. He was showing Sam he cared, being there for him, and Sam didn’t think he had ever appreciated his brother more.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice steeped with sincerity. “I don’t think I could handle any of this if I didn’t have you guys on my side. But you are and I am. I’m just trying to be ready now. I want this over, the demon stopped, and I want to go on with what comes next.”

Dean nodded slowly. “College?”

Sam shrugged. He didn’t think he could tell his mother this, but Dean would understand. “I don’t know if that will be a part of it. I have this power and I feel like I should use it. No, I _want_ to use it. Clark wants to start working together again when The Demon thing is over, to see what else I am capable of, and I really think I need to.”

“You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to,” Dean said fiercely. “You don’t have to listen to Clark. He just wants what works for him. He doesn’t care about you and what you need.”

Sam shook his head. “I think he does though. I’m still trying to figure him out, but I think he does care in his own way. I care about him.”

Dean rolled his eyes and looked away. “Awesome.”

“The point is, I have all this power and I can do good with it,” Sam said, steering them away from the sensitive topic. “I could help people. I was never the natural hunter like you were, and I thought I could do good by being a lawyer and helping people that needed it, but I have these advantages that I should use. I’m not doing it for Clark, or anyone else really, I’m doing it for me.”

Dean looked back to him, staring into his eyes for a long moment, and then he said, “You’d be a kickass lawyer.”

“I’d be a better hunter.”

Dean sat in silence for a long time, his brow furrowed, and Sam thought he could see the conflict raging in his brother. He wondered how it would show itself. Would Dean question further, weigh what he wanted for Sam against what the right thing was to do?

Ultimately, Sam couldn’t tell what he was really thinking as he punched Sam’s shoulder again and said, “Sure. You’d make a decent hunter, but you’ll still not be as good as me.”

Sam chuckled. “I don’t know. I’d like to see you pinning a demon with your mind.”

Dean scowled though his eyes were bright with amusement. “You don’t need psychic powers when you have my God-given brawn.”

“Sure,” Sam said. “You’re a mountain of a man.”

“And you know it.” Dean became sober again. “One more question and then I’ll stow the chick-flick stuff for another decade. How’s it going with the Jess thing?”

Sam ducked his head and answered quietly. “It’s still there. I miss her and it hurts to think of what I lost, what I thought I had back with the shapeshifter. But it’s not all the time, and that feels wrong, too. There is so much happening, so much to do, that I don’t think of her all the time, and when I do, I feel guilty that it’s not more.” He looked up and wiped at his face. “I think she’d understand though.”

“She would,” Dean said firmly. “She’d want what’s best for you, like we do, and she’d want you to be as happy as you can be. There’s all this crap going on now, and you’re hurting, but that’s not going to last forever. You’re going to have a great life, hunting with us if that’s what you want, and that would make her happy.”

Sam smiled and nodded.

The Jessica he had known and loved would want him to be happy. If anything, the shapeshifter had helped him see that. He didn’t know what she would make of powers and the demon blood, but she’d loved him and would want what was best for him.

If he did choose hunting after this was over, he would be saving other people like her, and that was the right way to remember and honor her.

What he didn’t say, as he thought it would hurt Dean, was that he didn’t think he would be hunting with his mother and Dean. He thought he and Clark would be a better fit.

Mary and Dean had their professional personas and they were amazing at what they did, but they did it as close to the civilian world as they could. Sam, with his powers and history, was better suited to Clark’s nomadic life.

If Clark would have him, he would join him. Perhaps together they could make a difference in their own way. He could repay Clark for all he had done by helping him find the demon that had killed Ruby.

He could repay a debt and help a friend. And perhaps he could find his place in the world with him.

xXx

Sam was working with the demon again. It was late evening and soon they would stop to go eat the meal Mae had prepared for them. Sam didn’t know what she thought he and Jim were doing in the old farmhouse, but she never came close to venturing inside. If she ever wanted Jim, she waited until he arrived back and then requested a moment with him. If they weren’t there when she was done with their meals, she stood at the backdoor and hit a pan with a wooden spoon, making Sam feel like they’d arrived in a turn of the century story in which the maid was calling them to be served.

Jim never showed any sign that he thought of her that way, he was always kind and helpful, but she showed an odd obeisance towards him. Sam assumed it was the formality of how she saw him as the leader of her church. She was different with Sam, just as she had been with him and Dean when they were children. She had scolded them for tracking mud in after a morning of playing in the fields but rewarded them with cookies after they’d cleaned up their own mess.

Sam assumed Jim had told her at least a little of Sam’s situation, the loss of Jessica, as she was gentle and thoughtful when dealing with him and allowed him to sit in his own thoughts when he drifted.

“I think we should stop for the evening,” Jim said, breaking into his concentrated focus on the demon. “Mae will be calling us soon, and you’re tired.”

Sam relaxed his grip on the demon, leaving him to pant and stagger to the far edges of the trap as if that would allow him distance from what Sam could do to him.

Sam turned away and walked to the door, stopping dead when he felt the cleaving pain across his skull. Sam reached out quickly to steady himself on the door frame, but it was Jim who gripped his shoulder and supported him, as Sam’s free hand flew up to cradle his forehead. The pain was searing and, though he knew what was happening wasn’t going to damage him, it was a vision, not illness, he found it hard to breathe against what he was seeing. He forced himself to breathe in and let himself fall into the vision.

Dean was standing in a room with Mary and Clark. The only light came from a dim bulb hanging overhead. They were all armed, but their guns were held loosely in their hands, and Dean’s tucked in the back of his pants as he bent to an old fashioned safe. He was leaning close to the door and turning the dial slowly, Mary and Clark watching him with nervous expectation. There was a sense of danger Sam had experienced before, and he waited for it to show itself. Mary said something Sam couldn’t hear and then they all span around, Mary and Clark raising their guns, as a man into the room, a rifle aimed at Dean.

“Put those guns down or I’ll shoot the kid,” the man threatened.

“Elkins?” Clark asked.

“Yeah, that’s me, and I know what you’re doing here. You’re not having it! Guns down!” He jerked his rifle toward Dean, his finger hovering over the trigger.

“We’re not here to steal it from you,” Mary said, setting her gun down on the floor and straightening with her hands raised. “We just need to borrow it.”

“Then why didn’t you try asking?” Elkins asked.

“We figured you wouldn’t want to share,” Clark said. “And we need it. We’ve got a demon to kill to save a whole lot of lives.”

Elkins narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t need to,” Clark said. “We’re taking it either way. You can give it up willingly, get it back when we’re done, or I can knock you out and keep it. The choice is yours.”

“Please, Daniel,” Mary said. “We will give it back. We just need one bullet.”

Clark shot her an angry look and then shook his head, his expression one of familiar frustration.

Sam cried out a warning that could not be heard as Clark raised his hand and flicked it up. The gun in Elkins' hand jerked up, but at the same moment, his finger depressed the trigger.

The bullet caught Dean on the right upper chest and Sam cried out in pain and horror.

Blood blossomed on Dean’s shirt as he collapsed, and Mary rushed towards him. Clark advanced on Elkins, his fury evident in his face, and he brought his two hands and made a twisting gesture. Though he didn’t touch Elkins, his head snapped to the side with a sickening crack and he collapsed.

Sam was panting and crying his brother’s name as Mary pressed her hands against Dean’s wound and Clark shrugged off his jacket and shirt and pushed her aside so he could staunch Dean’s bleeding. Dean was breathing weakly and his face was white where the blood had rushed from it to pour from his chest.

“You’re okay, Dean,” Clark said. “Just keep your moody-ass-self awake, okay?”

Dean looked to Mary and licked his lips. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered.

Mary’s eyes widened and he cupped Dean’s face in her hands. “No apologies. Just hang on.”

“Ambulance,” Clark snapped. “Quickly, Mary!” He pressed down harder on Dean’s wound, making him groan, and said, “Look at me, Dean. Think how much you want to kick my ass for getting you shot. And Sammy’s going to do his own damage after I got his dumbass brother shot. You won’t want to miss that, do you, buddy? Eyes on me.”

Dean nodded slightly and then his eyes unfocused and Clark shouted his name and pressed down harder on his wound. “Dean, no! Dammit!”

Sam stared in horror at his brother, his heart bursting with pain, crying out when the vision faded and Sam found himself back in the farmhouse with his breaths coming fast and his chest ripping with an agony that made the pain of the vision feel like nothing.

“Dean,” he whispered.

“What happened?” Jim asked from the doorway.

Sam didn’t pay him a moment’s attention. He raced out of the farmhouse and into Jim’s house, ignoring Mae’s inquiry of what was wrong as he ran up the stairs to his room where he grabbed his phone from the table where he’d left it. He hit speed-dial for Dean and gripped the casing tight in his hand as it rang through to voicemail. “No, Dean,” he growled. “Answer the damn phone!”

He dialed Mary’s number but the line was busy. He tried Clark’s and it was answered after only three rings. “Hey, Sammy,” he said. “It’s not a good time. We’re having something of a breakthrough right now.”

“Dean is going to die!” Sam shouted. “You have to keep him away from Elkins. He’s going to shoot him.”

He heard a quick breath on the line and another from the doorway where Jim stood, having obviously followed him up the stairs.

“Wait, what? Elkins is going to shoot Dean?” Clark asked.

“Yes! You have to keep him away. Don’t let him go anywhere.”

There was shouting on Clark’s end of the line and Sam heard Mary’s voice rising above the others, demanding to know what Clark was talking about.

“Look, Sammy, I think this is a story better told in person,” Clark said. “We’re still in Singer’s place so we’ve got time to work it out. Calm yourself down and come talk to us. We’ll be waiting.”

“I’m coming,” Sam said, cutting the call and dropping down onto the bed.

He drew a deep breath, tried to hold it in and calm his heart, then followed it with another. Slowly, he felt himself centering and his mind clearing. He closed his eyes and felt himself rising from his body and being drawn towards his family.

Towards Dean. 


	14. Chapter 14

Bobby and Dean were doing the dishes while Mary and Clark sat at the table and sipped their coffees. Mary had cooked so she got off dishes duty, and they had more chance of Clark hugging Dean than him pitching in after a meal he’d mostly moved around the plate.

She was watching her son and friend move in synchronicity at the counter, so in tune after so long, when her phone rang in her pocket. She pulled it out and, “Hello?”

 _“Mary, it’s me,”_ Ash said, and then went on quickly. _“Me Ash, not me anyone else.”_

“I know, Ash,” she said. “What do you have?”

_“A location on Elkins, I think. There was a hunter in town talking to me when I was working the room, and he said he knew him. He was pretty suspicious about why I was asking, but I managed to ply him with enough—”_

“Where is Elkins, Ash?” Mary snapped, cutting off his stream of words.

“Elkins?” Dean said, lurching to his feet and approaching her as the sound of ringing came from his pocket. He didn’t seem to hear it. He was focused on Mary, leaning close to hear the call.

 _“Somewhere in Colorado,”_ Ash said. _“I’ve not nailed down a town, but I have a program searching the records right now for tax and census entries.”_

“Colorado,” Mary breathed.

Clark and Bobby were in front of her, watching her intensely, Clark’s stare only breaking when his phone began to ring. He answered with a satisfied smile and said, “Hey, Sammy. It’s not a good time. We’re having something of a breakthrough right now.”

 _“I’ll need a little longer,”_ Ash was saying, _“He might be living off the grid, but I’ll keep looking. Just thought you should know that…”_

Clark’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? Elkins is going to shoot Dean?”

Mary dropped her phone as the words registered and her eyes found her oldest son who looked blank, as if the meaning of what Clark had said didn’t register.

“Dean is going to get shot?” Bobby asked and then his voice rose to a shout. “Clark! Tell us what he’s saying.”

Clark turned away and listened for a moment, and Mary grabbed his arm and turned him, shouting above Bobby’s and Dean’s now present shouts, “What are you talking about? What’s happening to Dean?”

Clark stepped back from them and held up a hand. “Look, Sammy, I think this is a story better told in person. We’re still in Singer’s place so we’ve got time to work it out. Calm yourself down and come talk to us. We’ll be waiting.” He tucked the phone back in his pocket and said, “Okay, you all want to try calming down? Obviously, Dean isn’t getting shot until he’s actually with Elkins, and since he’s not here right now, we can all take a breath and wait for Sam to get himself together and come talk to us. He’s going to need a minute as he’s pretty frantic. Let’s have a drink.”

He went to the dresser and poured four glasses of whiskey, handing one to Bobby and another to Mary and then nudging one into Dean’s and grinning. “That’s good, Sammy,” he said. “Come all the way.”

Sam appeared, the same strange shape that they’d seen before when he projected to them in person before, by the door.

“Nice,” Clark said. “You’re getting real good, Sammy. We’re going to make you a…” He trailed off as he saw Sam’s horrified attention was fixed on his brother, the light words he was offering giving no relief. 

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice strained. “You can’t go. Please, don’t go. Stay here.”

“Go where?” Dean asked. “What exactly did you see?”

Sam’s pale face twisted with pain and his hands fisted. “You, Mom, and Clark were in this room somewhere. There was a safe that you were trying to crack when Elkins arrived. He had a rifle. He was…” He shook his head and sucked in a shaky breath. “He shot you in the chest. I saw you…” He gulped. “You died, Dean!”

Mary’s hand reached for Dean’s arm and she squeezed it tight.

“I’m okay, Mom,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“And you’re going to stay fine,” Clark said. “We’ll keep you away from that room and he won’t get shot. Simple. Not sure I can say the same about Elkins though. He actually shot Dean on purpose?” 

Sam seemed to be struggling with something for a moment, his mouth moving silently, and then steely determination came into his eyes. “He shot Dean when you tried to stop him with telekinesis, Clark.”

“ _Clark_ got me shot!” Dean said incredulously. “Why am I even surprised?”

Clark shrugged. “Technically, I didn’t get you shot yet, and I was trying to help at the time.”

“He was trying to save you, Dean,” Sam said. “He was helping you when you…” He shuddered. “You can’t go to that place. You have to stay here.”

Dean pulled free from Mary and walked towards the image on Sam, his arms half-raised as if he was going to embrace him, but he stopped a foot away and his arms dropped to his sides. “It’s okay, Sammy. I’ll stay away from him. No one is going to shoot me.”

Sam didn’t look at all comforted, and Mary didn’t feel it. She was scared for Dean and worried about Sam. She was reeling with shock from what he’d said, and Sam was the one that had actually seen it. He’d had a vision in which his own brother had died. The horror of it was in his eyes and, like Dean, she wanted to hug him. She wanted to enfold both of them in her arms and hold them until she was sure they were safe.

She tried to clear her thoughts, to make sense of what was happening, but she couldn’t even move. All she could do was look at Dean, see his own confidence that he would be okay, and try to breathe.

Clark crossed the room and picked up her phone from where it had fallen on the floor. He brought it to his ear and said, “It’s Ash, right? I’m Clark.” He listened for a moment and said, “Well, I don’t know you either, but I’m a friend of the Winchesters, too, and we need that information. You’re going to find us that address, now, or I’m coming to kick your ass. Understand?” He smiled grimly, nodded, and said, “Sure, you can talk to her.”

Mary took the offered phone and lifted it to her ear. “Work fast, Ash.”

_“You know it, but what’s going on. How do you know someone’s shooting Dean?”_

Mary closed her eyes, cursing quietly for not ending the call before Ash could hear too much. He was going to be suspicious now and he was a gossip. If he heard Sam was psychic, he would talk, and that would put Sam in danger.

“Sam came across a hunter with a grudge,” she said. “He’s making threats against Dean.”

_“This Elkins guy, right? And you still want me to find him?”_

“Yes. I want you to do it fast.”

There was a long silence and then a sigh crackled the line. _“Okay. I’ll do my best and be in touch.”_

“Thank you, Ash,” Mary said and lowered the phone to end the call then quickly brought it up again. “Ash, if you tell anyone what you heard, I will drive Clark there to kick your ass myself. This conversation is private, understand?”

_“Uh… yeah, sure. I’ll call as soon as I know something.”_

Mary ended the call and looked from her youngest son—his horror still obvious—to her eldest who looked worried as he too watched Sam.

“Ash is going to call,” she said. 

“And then what?” Sam asked. “You can’t go after him. He will kill Dean!”

“Dean will stay home,” Clark said. “I’ll go get it with your mom. Singer can stay with Dean in case he runs with scissors or does something else dumb to get himself hurt.”

“Dumb?” Dean growled. “I was shot because of _you_!”

Clark ignored him and said, “This is good news, Sam. I know it sucked what you saw, but we’re warned now. We’ll keep Dean out of it, and we’ll be on our guard when we’re dealing with him. He’s obviously more dangerous than we thought.”

“He’s defending something important,” Bobby said, moving forward and placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “We know what that feels like.”

Dean gave Bobby a small smile and patted his hand.

“Okay,” Clark said. “We’ve got to wait on that Ash idiot to call with a location, but I figure we might as well head out for Colorado now. It’s a long drive and a head start will be good. Dean, Bobby, keep the home fires burning and me and Mother Mary will be back when we’ve got the gun.”

“No!” Sam gasped. “You can’t take her. What if she gets shot, too?”

Clark rolled his eyes. “The odds are against that now we know what we’re dealing with. I plan to incapacitate Elkins before he can even think about pulling a gun.”

“Like snap his neck?” Sam asked, his voice bitter. “That’s what you did in my vision after he shot Dean.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “I snapped his neck? Huh, I obviously care about you more than I realized, Dean. Doesn’t that just make you feel warm and fuzzy? I would kill for you.”

“You’re not killing anyone,” Mary snapped. “We’ll go in careful; we’ll find a way to get the gun without anyone getting hurt too much. I can just hold Elkins while Mary grabs the gun, it’ll be easy.”

“Mom,” Sam said, his voice pleading. “Please don’t go. Stay with Dean. Clark can handle it.”

“Sure,” Clark said with a dry laugh. “No one cares if I get shot.”

“I won’t go,” Mary said. “I’ll go to Colorado with Clark, but I’ll stay back when he goes to get the gun.”

Sam stared at her, seeming to be searching for a lie, and she stared back at him impassively. After a long moment, he nodded and his shape shimmered.

“You should probably head back to the real world, Sammy,” Clark said. “You’re burning out. Get some rest. We’ll call if anything changes.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Okay. Be careful and tell me if anything happens. I’ll be watching.”

“Of course you will,” Clark said. “Off you go.”

Sam looked from Bobby to Mary then his eyes settled on Dean with an intensity that made Dean shift from foot to foot. “I’ll be fine, Sammy,” he said.

Sam nodded and a moment later, he was gone.

Clark breathed out a sigh of relief. “Okay. Dean, Bobby, stay out of range. Mary, grab whatever you need and we’ll go. I’ll drive.”

Mary crossed the room and hugged Dean, holding his face to her shoulder with a gentle hand on the back of his head, and then she released him and kissed his cheek. “Stay here, stay safe,” she said. “Please.”

“You said you wouldn’t go!” Dean said.

“I know, and you know how much I hate lying to him after everything that’s happened, but I have to go; I need to be close. I’ll let Clark go to Elkins alone, but I’ll be nearby if he needs me."

“I could come to Colorado and stay back with you,” Dean suggested.

Clark snorted. “No, you can’t. Not only would it be dumb as all hell for you to go near the place Sammy saw you getting shot, but you’re also forgetting what he said. He’ll be watching. He’ll be pissed enough when he sees Mother Mary lurking in a motel nearby. If he sees you in Colorado with us, how long do you think it would be before he’s hopping on a plane to Denver? The last thing he needs is to be dragged across the country to save you from your own stupidity. He’s already having a hell of a time. You stay. We’ll go.”

Mary nodded and squeezed Dean’s hand. “He’s right. Sam needs you to stay.”

They all needed him to stay, but using Sam’s need would make Dean accept that truth and do the right thing. Sam could watch them and see they were all being careful. And if he happened to look when she was going to Elkins with Clark… it would be too late for him to follow.

Because she was going.

She trusted Clark to an extent, and she believed he cared about Sam and stopping the Demon, but she couldn’t be completely certain he wouldn’t go in search of his own revenge before letting them have the gun. It was more than that, though. She was a hunter, she protected life. She wasn’t letting Clark go into a dangerous situation alone. He needed backup, and that would have to be her. 

She was going to be there.


	15. Chapter 15

Mary was taking a turn at the wheel of Clark’s truck so he could sleep, though he hadn’t yet. He was sitting stretched out in his seat with his eyes fixed on the scenery rushing past them.

They’d stopped at a motel in the night, but Mary hadn’t been able to snatch more than a few hours’ sleep. She didn’t know if Clark had slept at all. When she’d fallen asleep, he was banging around in his adjoining room, and when she’d woken it had been to him banging on her door to deliver coffee and saying they should hit the road if she was awake.

She could have pointed out that, until he’d woken her, she hadn’t been awake, but she knew him well enough to know there was no point. He would make a sarcastic comment and they’d end up leaving anyway. As helpful as Clark could be, as grateful as she was for what he had done for them and what he was doing still, it didn’t stop him annoying her. At least she had an easier ride of it than Dean who Clark loved to needle in some kind of revenge for what Dean did to him unconsciously with his emotional climate.

She’d washed up in the bathroom and drunk the coffee he’d brought her and then they’d set out again. She snatched a few more hours’ sleep on the road but not enough to satisfy. When they were done and they had the Colt, she was going to leave him at the wheel while she slept if he insisted on heading back to Sioux Falls straight away.

They’d passed the border into Colorado from Nebraska and Clark moved in his seat. “You might as well pull us over,” he said. “There’s a rest stop ahead. I need a smoke.”

Mary turned on the blinker and pulled them into a small gravel lot and turned off the engine.

Clark was first out of the truck and shaking a cigarette out of the pack before Mary had removed her seatbelt. He walked over to a picnic table and straddled the bench, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs and exhaling it in a sigh.

Mary left him to his pleasure and went to the bathroom and then a vending machine to buy them coffees. When she joined him, he had a fresh cigarette lit and he took his coffee with a murmur of thanks.

“I figure we take a break here and hope your buddy Ash comes through with the address fast,” he said, and then considered. “And hopefully close. I don’t want to cross another state desperate for a smoke.”

“You can smoke in the truck,” Mary said grudgingly.

Clark snorted. “Thanks for the permission, but I’ll hold off. I don’t think Sammy would like me polluting his mom’s lungs in close quarters.”

Mary was surprised. “You really care what Sam will want?”

Clark laughed. “Only a little. Honestly, the more I smoke, the more I want a proper drink. I’m not driving loaded, so I’ll wait. And if Sam comes checking up on us, he’ll see what’s going on, and he doesn’t need the stress.”

Mary watched him carefully for a moment, the easy smile that was betrayed by the serious look in his eyes, and she thought she understood Clark a little more than she had before.

“You do care about Sam,” she stated.

Clark stared off into the distance for a moment and then nodded. “He’s a good kid that’s been through a lot that he didn’t deserve. He’s still going through it. Also…” he stretched his arms out and rolled his neck, “I’m pretty sure he’s looking for an excuse to come join us here, and I don’t want to give him one even as weak as protecting you from second-hand smoke. He doesn’t need it. He saw his own brother die in that vision, and now you’re here. Maybe he believes you’re going to stay back while I get the gun from Elkins, maybe he doesn’t. Either way, I think he’s fighting himself right now.” He winked at her. “And you and I both know you’re not staying back like the little lady at home while I go to Elkins alone.”

Mary nodded. “I’m not.”

“Exactly. Sooner we get this gun and get out of here, the better. No offense, Mary, but you’re not the greatest company for a road trip.”

“No offense taken,” Mary said, a smile quirking her lips. “You’re not exactly my choice of partner either.”

“We’ve got that in common then.” He drew on his cigarette again and closed his eyes. “That makes two things.”

“What else do we have in common?” Mary asked.

He opened his eyes and glanced at her. “We both want that gun more than anything, and we’re willing to do anything to get it.”

“Not anything,” Mary said, thinking of what Sam had seen Clark do in his vision. After Dean had been shot, Clark had killed Elkins. Mary wanted the gun, she needed it, but she wouldn’t kill for it. She would find another way. She wasn’t going to let herself become a murderer for it.

If it was just about her, she would kill to protect her sons, but they were the ones who would suffer if she did. She could not see their faces when they discovered she was a murderer. They all knew the stakes, but neither of them would see her the same way if she took a human life.

She had just got them back after what she had done and hidden was revealed, so she knew how it felt to lose them. Dean’s forgiveness had come faster than Sam’s, and Sam’s had come with the complete devastation of grief so perhaps wasn’t truly earned, but she wouldn’t risk it again.

“Maybe not,” Clark agreed. “Not for you anyway. We’ll make it work though. There’s two of us, one of him, and we’ve got the advantage of my extremely talented self. I can pin him, and you can grab the gun.”

Mary nodded. She was willing to do that to get the gun. She was willing to do more even, just not kill.

She sipped the coffee she’d brought as Clark smoked his cigarette down to the filter and then stamped it out.

“You want me to check in on Winchester Juniors?” he asked.

“I can call them,” she said.

“You can, and I’m sure you will, but you’re only going to get a true answer out of one of them. Do you think Sam will be forthcoming on what’s he’s feeling? I’ll be able to get a better gauge on it looking.”

“I’ll call Dean,” she said. “You check on Sam. Make sure he knows why you’re doing it though—for me. I don’t want more lies.”

Clark snorted. “Yeah, wouldn’t want that.”

He took a swig of his coffee and then relaxed himself and his eyes fell closed as he stilled with the strange completeness of astral projection. She watched him for a moment and then she took out her phone and dialed Dean’s cell. It was answered after only a few rings.

_“Mom, where are you? Have you found him yet?”_

“No. We’ve only just crossed into Colorado because we stopped for a few hours. We’re waiting to hear from Ash with a location. How are you?”

Dean sighed. _“We’re okay. I feel stupid being benched, and I don’t like the idea of you being stuck with Clark for this, but Bobby has me busy with the books. Mackey called for help on a hunt and we’re searching up the information for him.”_

“That’s good,” Mary said, pleased her son was distracted. “Have you heard from Sam?”

_“No, and I haven’t called him. I figure he’ll call us when he’s ready. If I haven’t heard from him by tomorrow, I’ll put a call in but… I don’t want to crowd him, you know? He’s still going through something.”_

“He’s been through everything,” Mary said. “He saw you get shot. I think that hurt him more than anything else he’s been through lately.”

_“I wish we could have saved him from that. I’m glad he saw it, since I don’t want to run in and get myself killed, but it feels like all the hits are coming at him right now. I wish…”_

“What, honey?”

_“I wish we could rewind to last summer, before all this happened. Things were so good then. Sammy was so excited about college and Jess. He was setting up for his LSAT. It’s all gone to hell since.”_

Mary bit her lip as a wave of guilt rolled over her. If they could go back to that time, when things had been good, she would do so much differently. She would have told her sons the truth about John’s death so Sam would have known the connection of what he was dreaming. They could have protected Jessica. That was on her, but not all of it. There was one person to blame for all of it, The Demon, and she was going to lay that where it belonged.

It would be killed, and her sons protected.

“I know,” she said. “But we can’t change what happened. All we can do is change what we do next. And we’re going to. We’ll…” She stopped as her phone beeped with a call waiting. “I’ve got a call coming in. It might be important. I’ll be right back.”

 _“Sure,”_ Dean said. _“If it’s Sam, tell him to come see us, you know, astrally.”_

“I will.” Mary lowered her phone and pressed the button to swap calls and brought it back to her ear. “Hello?”

 _“Hey, Mary,”_ Ash said cheerfully. _“I’ve got something for you.”_

Her heart skipped and she sucked in a breath. “Elkins?”

_“Yes. I got a rough address. He’s got a PO Box in a place called Manning in the southeast of Colorado. I can’t nail him down more than that, but I figure you and Dean are practically experts at tracking people down.”_

“That’s great!” Mary said.

_“Yeah, I think so. I’ll text you the details of the box he’s got, and you can work your magic. Call me if you need anything else.”_

“I will,” Mary said, eager to get off the phone and back to the mission. “Thank you, Ash.”

 _“Thank me with PBR, not words,”_ Ash drawled.

Mary chuckled. “We’ll set you up with a case when this is all over, I promise. I’ve got to go.”

_“Sure. Bye.”_

Mary ended the call and connected to Dean again. “We’ve got a location,” she said.

“You do? Where?”

_“A place called Manning. It’s only a PO Box but we’ll get more from that. I’ll call when I know more.”_

_“Okay, Mom. Be careful.”_

“I promise. I love you.”

 _“Love you, too,”_ Dean said and ended the call.

Mary took a deep breath and then turned to Clark who was tapping at something on his phone. “He’s in Manning,” she said. 

“I heard you,” he said, frowning at his phone. “We’re a few hours away.” He swung his leg over the seat and stood. “Let’s go.”

Mary drained the remains of her coffee and then carried the empty cup to a trash can and dropped it in. She was almost back at the truck before the question of her other son occurred to her.

“How’s Sam?”

Clark frowned for a moment and then huffed a laugh. “Yeah, forgot about that. He’s okay, I think. He was sleeping, so I didn’t get a chance to speak to him.”

Mary checked her watch and saw the time. Calculating the time difference, it was late morning in Minnesota. “He’s sleeping now.” Sam was usually an early riser.

“Probably more unconscious than asleep., From the look of it, he needed it.” He shrugged. “I’m guessing from the shadows under his eyes that he had a rough night. And he was pretty drained when he left off last night after that vision and projecting for so long. It’s good though. The more time he spends sleeping, the less he’s going to be twisting himself up over what we’re doing. Maybe when he does wake up, we’ll have good news for him.” He pulled open the truck door and slid in behind the wheel then called out to her, “Come on, we’ve got a mythical gun to find,” before slamming the door and starting the engine.

Mary forced herself away from thoughts of Sam and the night that may have passed for him and climbed in, too. She had to focus on what mattered most, and right now, that was tracking down Daniel Elkins and getting the Colt.

xXx

When Mary and Clark arrived in Manning, they booked into a motel and took a moment to get something to eat at the connecting diner before planning what to do next. It was agreed that Mary would be the one to ask around about Elkins as, according to Clark, she had ‘that whole innocent mom thing going on’.

Mary didn’t mind going out alone for a while as she wanted the space after the long drive together and she agreed that she had more chance of finding the information than Clark did. He didn’t look like the kind of man that would be looking up old friends to share a beer. It wasn’t the way he dressed and acted; it was the general aura of antagonism he carried.

She believed he liked it better that way, life with a little distance. She changed her clothes and neatened her hair before leaving Clark in a smoke cloud and walked into the town center a few minutes’ walk away.

The post office was a small building serving the average-sized town, and though she was greeted cheerfully by a customer that held the door open for her to enter on his way out, she thought that she was going to have less luck with the man behind the counter.

He looked at least ten years older than her, and his neatly trimmed mustache and shorn hair made her think of military men. His appearance wasn’t the problem; it was the hard look in his eyes as he took a thick envelope from the woman at the head of the queue, a young woman with a little boy hanging from her hand and chattering a mile a minute.

“What are you sending, Ms. Greaves?” he asked stiffly.

The woman rolled her eyes. “Just another manuscript. Same as last time and the time before that.”

“No corrosives or flammable substances?”

“Just paper. It’s an erotica novel if that’s a problem.”

The man’s lips pressed into a thin line and he scowled. “What you chose to do with your own time is your own concern.”

“Thanks,” she said brightly.

The man printed a label and attached it to the front of the parcel and scanned it. “That will be $6.37. Is there anything else?”

“No thank you,” she said handing over the money and taking her receipt.

He dropped her parcel into a large bag behind him and watched as she led the child out of the store, telling him they’d go for candy when their other errands were finished, and Mary stepped up to the counter, not having any hope for actual help.

“Hi,” she said, putting on her most ingratiating smile and taking her wallet from her pocket. “I’m Mary Winchester with Winchester Investigations.” She showed him her ID card that named her as a licensed private investigator and then tucked it away before he could make a grab for it as he looked likely to do. “I am looking for a man called Daniel Elkins as part of an investigation, and I was hoping you could help me. We believe he has a PO box here.”

“Daniel Elkins,” he said. “Yes. I know the gentleman.”

“Would you be able to direct me to him?”

The man gave her a hard smile that told her he was enjoying himself at her expense and said, “I’m afraid I cannot disclose information about customers to anyone outside of the proper authorities.”

Mary counted to ten in her head and said, “I understand that, but I am not looking for Mr. Elkins for anything that would trouble him. We have been hired by a law firm in Georgia to locate him as part of a relation’s estate. We believe he’s the main benefactor of the estate.”

“That may be true…” he said, sounding like he doubted it, “but I am bound by the rules of my employers. As an investigator, you should understand that.”

Mary forced a smile. “I do. Thank you anyway.”

She turned and left, taking a deep breath of the cool air and cursing under her breath. It was a long shot to think they would get the information that easily, especially from such a company man as he had been, and she was only a little disheartened.

She set off down the street and saw the woman and her child walking a little head of her. She was thinking she would try the diner she and Clark had eaten in to see if Elkins was a customer. She thought they would be more forthcoming.

The child’s requests for candy had become whines and he was tugging on the woman’s hand. As Mary came behind them, the woman tripped, unbalanced by the child’s efforts, and her wallet dropped from her purse and fell on the floor. She hadn’t seemed to notice, trying to soothe the fractious child, and Mary sped up and picked it up.

“Hey,” she said. “You dropped this.”

The woman turned and her eyes widened as she saw her wallet held out to her. “Oh! Thank you,” she said, taking it and putting it away then zipping her purse closed.

“Momma, I want candy,” the child whined, his voice pitching higher as his eyes narrowed.

“Later,” she said curtly and then addressed Mary. “That was really kind of you. Some people in this town would have taken it for themselves. It’s not the same place me and Vic moved to anymore.”

“It’s fine,” Mary said. “It seemed like you were already having a bad day.”

She smiled. “You could say that. It’s never fun dealing with Somers in there, and Billy here isn’t having a good day.” She cast a glance at her son who looked ready to start shouting. “How did it go for you? Did he ask you if you were sending letter bombs?”

Mary laughed. “No. I wasn’t mailing anything. I was just looking for information on someone I’m searching for. I’m a PI and there’s a man we need to contact.”

The woman pushed her hair back from her face. “Who are you looking for? Maybe I can help.”

“His name is Daniel Elkins,” Mary said. “He’s probably in his sixties, and he might be a bit of a loner.”

The woman smiled widely. “The writer! Yeah, I know him.”

“He’s a writer?” Mary asked.

“Well, I think so. I’ve not seen any of his books anywhere. He’s often in The Pine House Bar, scribbling in his little book. I figured he was a writer like me because I’m always scribbling notes, too. Taking care of Billy all day means that’s often all the chance I have to get any writing done.”

Mary felt a flutter of excitement. She spent more than her own fair share of time scribbling notes in her journal, and her father had done it even more. Some of her strongest childhood memories were watching him write at the kitchen table when they were on one of their ‘visits’, which was what he and her mother had called hunts before she was old enough to know the truth. She had watched the ink creating the words she was too young to read, sketching the strange creatures that had spooked her.

“Where’s The Pine House?” she asked.

“It’s just a couple of blocks away, take the left past the post office and the next right,” she said. “It’ll be open now but quiet. I don’t know if Mr. Elkins will be in there as I’ve only seen him in there at night.” She stumbled as the child yanked on her arm and said, “Momma, I want—”

“I know,” she said firmly, cutting him off. “But if you don’t start behaving, you’ll get nothing.” She shot Mary an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I’ve got to get on before we’re dealing with a full tantrum. I hope you find him.”

“Me too,” Mary said. “Thanks for the information.”

The woman smiled and allowed her child to lead her away. Mary watched her go, feeling a wave of pity for her. She no doubt loved her son, but it looked like he was a lot of work. She’d been lucky that Dean and Sam had been pretty well behaved. Dean had always been a good—if excitable—child, and Sam had followed his lead. He never really gave her or Bobby trouble growing up. It was now, as suffering adults, that the trouble had started for them all.

She turned on her heel and walked back along the street, taking the indicated turns until she reached a bar with clapboard walls and a crooked sign over the door declaring in The Pine House.

She pushed open the door and was met with the strains of Dolly Parton playing on an antique jukebox and the smell of beer. As expected, it was quiet, only a few tables occupied and one woman at the bar. She was dressed in a long black dress and heels that stood out among the other, casually dressed patrons and dingy air of the place. Mary suspected that, if given time to tell it, she would have an interesting story.

Behind the bar was a woman wearing a black tank and jeans. She was polishing a glass that she set down when Mary approached and said, “What can I get you?”

“I am looking for a little information,” Mary said.

“I don’t serve information.”

Mary forced a smile. “Then I’ll take a beer; whatever you have on tap.”

The bartender picked up a glass and held it under the tap, pouring a glass that looked like more foam than actual beer. 

She set it down in front of Mary who took a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet and placed it on the bar. “If you can serve me some information, you can keep the change,” she said.

The bartender snatched the bill and tucked it into her pocket. “What do you need?”

“I’m looking for a man called Daniel Elkins. I heard he drinks here.”

“Mr. Elkins, sure. He’s here whenever he’s in town, not that he often is. He came by last night though, so he’ll probably be here a few more days before taking off again. That’s his pattern.”

“Where does he live?” Mary asked.

She frowned. “I’m not sure I should tell you…”

Mary sighed and took another bill from her wallet and handed it over to the woman who tucked it away and said, “He’s got a cabin on the Old Town Road. You’ll know it as it has a blue mailbox and two piles of rocks marking the driveway.” She considered a moment. “Hey, you’re not here to cause him trouble, are you? He’s a decent guy.”

“I’m with a team of investigators looking for him in regard to a relation’s estate. No trouble at all. A stroke of good luck even.”

“Oh, well that’s great. He could do with some good news. He’s a pretty serious guy.”

Mary pushed back her glass of foamy beer and turned to leave. “Thank you for your help,” she said.

“Thank you for the tip.”

Mary walked out of the bar, musing on the fact she’d met one very helpful person in town and two unhelpful. At least one of them had been willing to exchange information for money, and now she knew what she needed to know. She had a vague address, now she needed to get Clark and go looking for the house with the blue mailbox where—hopefully—she’d get what she needed.

xXx

When Mary got back to the motel, she had to hammer on Clark’s door for a full minute before he answered, his hair even more untidy than usual and his eyes bleary.

“I was sleeping,” he said.

“And I was getting the information we need,” she said. “I know where Elkins lives.”

Clark’s eyes cleared. “Awesome. Where?”

“On the Old Town Road we drove down coming into town. Apparently, there’s a blue mailbox and rocks either side of the drive.”

“I know it,” Clark said.

Mary snorted. “How do you know it? We went down that road once?”

“I know because I was using my eyes. Really, Mary, how do you hunt when you don’t take in your surroundings?” He waved a hand. “Never mind. How are we handling this? You want to head in now, while it’s light, or should we wait for the cover of darkness?”

“Later,” Mary said, still marvelling at Clark’s powers of observation on something as simple as a drive into a new town among the hundreds he must have seen in his life. “He’ll probably be in the bar—that’s his pattern. We can have a look around while he’s out, find the safe Sam saw, and maybe get it open. I’m not as good as Dean or Bobby at cracking them, but I’m not bad.”

Clark nodded. “Great. You go call home, check in on the chicks—Sam is awake, I checked—and I’ll get some more sleep. Give me a shout when you’re ready to head out.”

“You don’t want dinner?”

“No, Mary,” Clark said impatiently. “I want a drink. I’m not having that until we’ve got the Colt in our hands, so I’m going to sleep.” He stepped back and closed the door without another word.

Mary stood staring for a moment, and then went back to her own room and settled down to call her sons, musing on the fact she was actually feeling sorry for Clark. He made one of her sons’ life a misery when he was there, and he helped the other in ways she never could. He was helping them, but she wasn’t sure she’d call him a real friend, not the way hunters like Mackey and Rufus were.

Clark was an enigma that she wasn’t sure she wanted to unravel more than they already had. She thought she was better off not worrying. He was on their side, and that was what mattered.

xXx

Clark parked the truck a little up the road from the house they were looking for, and they set out on foot. He strode ahead and she fell in at his side. He glanced at her and then sped his pace. Mary did the same, and he stopped, just as they reached the entrance to Elkin’s driveway.

“You’re making it hard,” he said.

“Making what hard?”

“Taking care of you. Since Sam saw Dean get shot going after this gun, we know Elkins is willing to pull the trigger, so I am _trying_ to stop you from being the one to take the bullet. If you insist on marching at my side, you’ve got a fifty-fifty hit of getting shot.”

Mary took a step back, shock rolling over her. “You’re willing to get shot for me?”

Clark shrugged. “I can take a bullet, it wouldn’t be the first time I got hurt, and I eat my Wheaties.”

“That doesn’t make you bulletproof, Clark. And Wheaties? Really? I’d be happy if I saw you actually eating a full meal.”

Clark huffed a laugh. “Aw, Mother Mary, that’s sweet of you, getting all maternal and all, but I really will be fine. I can take a bullet, yeah, but I’m not actually getting shot. I am turbocharged, after all. I can stop it before it hits.”

Mary gasped. “You can stop a bullet?”

“Probably. Stuff like that happens, my power works automatically. I’ve not managed to stop a knife or—damn creepy demons—teeth coming for me, but things flying at me, yeah. Sam stopped the pipe, right?”

Her mind spun. “Sam can stop a bullet!”

Clark shrugged. “If he practices enough, I don’t see why not. Like I said, it’s automatic. Let’s not find out.”

He started walking again and Mary followed. They didn’t speak until the cabin was within sight, with its darkened windows and the empty spot where the wheel ruts of a usually parked car were.

“He’s not home,” Clark said. “Let’s do this.”

He pulled out a small pouch from his pocket and hurried to the door before bending down and getting to work on the lock. Mary stood beside him, her heart racing now that they were so close to their goal, and gasped when the door clicked open.

Clark pushed it open and they went in. “You bring a torch?” he asked.

“No,” Mary answered, cursing her oversight.

“Never mind. We’re far enough away from the road to use the lights.” He felt along the wall and muttered, “Where the hell is it.”

She heard a click, but the lights didn’t come on. In the moment it took her to recognize the sound as the click of a safety being taken off, she failed to move. It was Clark’s shoulder slamming into her, knocking her back, at the same time as the crack of a gun that made her realize that things were going horribly wrong.

Mary heard a shout of pain and then the light clicked on and Mary saw the man standing opposite them, a gun in his hand aimed at her, and Clark bleeding at her feet.

“Clark!” she shouted, bending to him and then gasping as a cold voice said, “Move and I’ll shoot again.”

Mary froze and said, “You don’t need to shoot us. We’re not here to hurt you.”

“The hell with this,” Clark groaned, throwing up his left arm and catching the revolver that flew towards him and then throwing it out again and pinning Elkins to the wall. “Little help.”

Mary dropped down beside him and searched for the wound. The blood seemed to be darkest at his right upper arm and there was a small hole in the leather of his jacket. Mary shrugged off her coat and pressed it to the wound.

“It’s not that bad,” Clark said then addressed Elkins. “You got a first aid kit in here?”

The man glowered but didn’t answer. Clark swung his left hand through the air and Elkins’ head snapped to the side as if he’d been punched. He spat blood but didn’t speak.

Clark forced himself upright and leaned against the wall. “Look around, Mary,” he said. “If you can’t find a kit, get me a sewing kit. The only thing that’s going to plug this son of a bitch is stitches.”

“You want me to stitch you up?” she asked. “I haven’t done it in years, not since I hunted with my father.”

“It’s like falling off a log,” Clark said.

“But a hospital…”

“Will call the cops for a bullet wound. I’ve got a record and you’ve got the official PI cover to maintain. We can do it. Besides, by the time we’ve got the gun out of this old bastard, I’ll have bled out. Go on, look!”

Mary got quickly to her feet and began to search the cupboards. She found nothing and, leaving Clark holding Elkins in place with his power, she went into a small bedroom. There was a duffel on the end of the bed, and she tipped it out. Clothes spilled onto the blanket and a tin that rattled. She opened the tin and found comprehensive medical supplies and a small suture kit with a curved needle.

She carried it back into the living room where Elkins was still pinned to the wall and Clark was struggling out of his shirt, his jacket already across his knees.

“I can’t believe you ruined my jacket,” he said bitterly. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve had that thing?”

Elkins narrowed his eyes but didn’t answer.

“Can you do this, Mary?” Clark asked, checking through the kit she’d set down beside her where she knelt. “I can do it with my left, but it won’t be neat, and I’ve got to keep hold of him at the same time.”

“I can do it,” Mary said.

She helped him out of his shirt and checked the back of his arm for another wound. “It’s not a through and through,” she said.

“No problem. We can leave it in for now. I’ve got a friendly doctor that can get it out for me later. Get to work.”

Mary scrubbed her hands with alcohol gel and then tipped a bottle of peroxide over the small wound. Clark hissed between his teeth and snorted when she apologized.

“Don’t worry about hurting me,” he said. “Just sew that sucker up.”

Mary picked up the needle and pinched the skin together for the first stitch. “I thought you could stop a bullet,” she said, wanting to draw both of their attention from what she was doing.

“Turns out I can’t.”

“Did you know that or were you distracted?”

“Are you asking if I willingly took a bullet for you?” he asked with amusement and pain in his voice. “That’s something you’re going to have to mull over yourself.”

“Thank you,” Mary said, pulled the thread through Clark’s flesh again.

“Be sure to tell Dean what I did,” he said. “It might make him ease off on me, giving me a chance to enjoy a halfway decent emotional atmosphere around him. And you could tell Sam, too.”

Mary bit her lip. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

Clark snorted. “No, you’re not, but you were always going to tell him the truth eventually. It was hard enough for you to lie to him about not coming. Hiding the fact you did is going too far after how it ended last time.”

Mary put in the last stitch and said, “You’re probably right.”

“I usually am.”

Mary cut the thread and covered the wound with a clean dressing. Clark raised his arm carefully, testing the range of motion, and then allowed Mary to help him to his feet.

“Okay,” he said, advancing on Elkins. “We need to talk.”

“I know why you’re here,” Elkins said. “It’s the only reason anyone would come for me. I heard you were trying to track me, and Sadie told me you were in town. But you’re not having it. It belongs to me.”

Clark raised his uninjured arm, but Mary caught it and pushed it down. 

“We need it,” she said. “The Colt is the only thing that can kill the demon we’re hunting.”

Elkins chuckled. “It’s the only gun that can kill _anything_. I’m sure the demon you’re chasing is bad, but there are only five bullets left, and they’re not going to be wasted on a foot soldier.”

“It’s not a foot soldier,” Clark said. “This is Azazel, the most powerful demon we’ve ever heard of, and he’s a dangerous bastard. He’s done things you can’t even imagine, destroyed lives, and I think he’s just getting started. He needs to be stopped.” He jerked his head at Mary. “You don’t want to know what he did to her son.”

Mary stepped forward, her hands raised. “Please. I don’t want to see you hurt, but—”

Elkins cut her off with a laugh. “You don’t want to see me hurt? You don’t see what that freak beside you is doing to me?”

“He’s not a freak,” Mary spat, her anger directed to the feelings the word gave her for her own son. “And since you shot him, you deserve it.”

“I shot him defending my own property. That’s my right!”

“And I can kill you as self-defense,” Clark said conversationally. “That’s my right. Mary here wouldn’t like it, but I don’t mind.”

“Mary?” Elkins stared at Mary for a moment. “I know you… You’re Samuel Campbell’s daughter.”

“Yes,” Mary said. “And I need this from you.”

Elkins shook his head. “Your parents taught me a lot, they saved my life once, but I can’t hand over the gun to you. It’s my family legacy. We have to protect it.”

“I can protect it,” Mary said. “My family will.”

Clark narrowed his eyes. “Got kids, Elkins? More hunters in the family to pass the Colt down to?”

Elkins looked away and Clark laughed.

“Thought not. But Mary here has two sons, one of them a hunter, a damn good one, and they can protect it. How many years do you think you’ve got left anyway? Even if I don’t kill you, it’s not going to be long until something does. Then what happens? The Colt stays locked in your safe for the rest of time? It will never be used, never save lives.” He shrugged. “Look, we’re taking it one way or another. You can let us, help us even, and know that you’re passing the legacy onto people that deserve it. Or you can fight us, have it stolen and your own neck snapped in the bargain. We’re taking the gun, and I for one am not going to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life in case you come looking for it.”

“Please, Daniel,” Mary said. “I know what this means to you, believe me, and I will make sure it’s protected. My family will take care of it. And…” she glanced at Clark, seeing his steely determination and deciding to tell the lie, “I will watch him kill you and not do a thing if you don’t.”

“You have sons,” Elkins asked.

“Two,” Mary said. “One of them is the best hunter you’ll ever see. He will take care of it and he’ll make sure it’s taken care of when he’s gone.”

Elkins considered them for a long time, looking from face to face, and Mary started to speak, but Clark put a hand on her arm to silence her.

“Under the red tablecloth. Nine. Twenty-two. Fourteen. Sixty-seven,” he said. “That’s the combination. The door sticks. Give her a good tug,”

Clark darted across the room and yanked back the cloth, toppling books and a vase of dried flowers to the floor, exposing the safe. He bent down and began to turn the dial, his breaths coming quick. There was a click and he yanked on the door, revealing a small cavern of folders and books and, on the very top, a wooden case. He lifted it out and set it down on top of the safe.

Mary rushed to his side and watched as he lifted the lid to reveal the beautiful gun. She knew how old it was and was surprised that the condition was pristine. The barrel, with its careful engravings, gleamed and the wooden handle was polished to a sheen. There were thirteen small compartments, eight of them empty, and five filled with bullets with numbers carved into them.

Mary took one of the bullets, the one marked thirteen, and examined it. It bore a cross on the tip but otherwise looked ordinary. She set the bullet back in the case and ran a finger along the cool barrel.

“So, you have it, you can let me go,” Elkins said.

Clark closed the box and handed it to Mary who hugged it against her chest.

“You’re not coming after us, are you?” Clark asked.

“No,” Elkins said. “It yours now. You can do with it what you want, and you can bear the burden. It’s not an easy thing to possess.”

“I believe you,” Clark said then nodded.

Elkins fell away from the wall and rubbed his jaw where Clark has struck him.

“What are you going to do?” Mary asked.

Elkins shrugged. “Hunt vampires. Perhaps die. I think I have lived so long with what I do because something was guarding me. I needed to be alive to protect the gun. It’s not mine anymore, so maybe I will be allowed peace in my heart. I’d like that.”

Mary felt awkward. She felt that she should thank him, but he had shot Clark and had only handed over the gun because it was a choice between that and death. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he really had wanted the legacy to continue, the gun to be protected. She wasn’t sure.

“I hope you find your demon and end it,” Elkins said. “But you’ll need to be careful. You’re going to want to use it now you have it, to waste it. That gun has been in the world over a century and a half and only eight bullets have been used. Kill your demon and then put it away. Save it. You will find hunts, monsters, that you think are worth a bullet, but they’re not. There is always something worse out there waiting.”

“We know what we’re doing,” Clark said curtly, scooping up his and Mary’s bloodied jackets and then walking to the door.

Mary stared at Elkins for a moment and then followed him out. They walked quickly back along the driveway to the road where they’d parked the truck. Mary climbed in behind the wheel and took the keys from Clark in exchange for the Colt then started the engine.

“My demon is bad enough,” Clark said.

Mary frowned. “What?”

“I know you were listening to him and you’re going to think of it some more later, but our deal stands. The bullets are precious, I know that, but I still get one. My demon is going to die, too.”

“I know,” Mary said gently. “I’ll keep our deal.”

Clark nodded, a smile hovering at the corners of his lips, and then said, “Get us out of here. I need a proper drink and you need to call home to tell them the good news.”

Mary smiled widely, her eyes drifting to the box in Clark’s lap.

It was good news. They had the Colt. 

Now she just had to tell her sons she’d lied and gone with Clark to Elkins’ place.


	16. Chapter 16

Dean, Mary, and Bobby were sitting together in the kitchen, a closed wooden box in the middle of the table.

“Do we get to see it then?” Bobby asked gruffly.

“In a moment,” Mary said, her eyes darting around the room. “He’ll be here soon.”

“Who will be here?” Dean asked. “If it’s Clark, you can forget it. I am _not_ waiting for him to turn up for the big reveal.”

“I owe Clark,” Mary said. “He saved me.”

“From what?” Bobby asked. “And where is he? You’re being pretty close-lipped about this whole thing.”

“I’m waiting for us all to be here,” Mary said. “Sam will… Sam!”

Her face broke into a smile as Sam appeared by the door. His shape was the vague form of his astral self, but Dean was pleased to see his face clearly as it looked infinitely calmer than the last time he’d seen him, when Sam had come to tell them about the vision he’d had of Dean dying.

“You got it,” Sam said, his eyes bright as they fixed on the box on the table.

“We did,” Mary said. “And it’s thanks to Clark that we did. I don’t think I could have persuaded Elkins alone.”

Sam looked around. “Where is Clark?”

Mary’s smile faded. “He’s gone to get a bullet dug out of his arm. Elkins shot him.”

Dean snorted. “Wonder why.”

Mary scowled at him. “Because he was knocking me out of the way of a bullet.”

Bobby’s eyes widened and Dean made a sound of protest. “He shot at you!”

“He killed _you_ , Dean,” Sam said, a shadow of pain crossing his face. “Are you okay, Mom?”

“I’m fine,” she soothed. “Clark should be too. It didn’t hit bone and he’s seeing a doctor now to get the bullet out. He really came through though. Elkins was shooting before asking a single question. That… legacy, the Colt, was everything to him.”

“Then how did you get it from him?” Bobby asked.

“Clark really. He was talking about Sam and Dean, how Dean was a hunter. Elkins had no children, no one to pass the gun on to, and he wanted it protected. Clark made him see we could do that.”

“Sure, he’s a damn hero,” Dean grumbled.

He was grateful Clark had saved his mother, but he was also pretty sure it was because of him that Elkins had started firing in the first place. That was how Sam saw Dean getting shot, Clark using his powers. Mary said Elkins went in shooting, but Dean wasn’t sure Clark still hadn’t done something stupid.

They had the Colt, and that was awesome, and he didn’t exactly want Clark to get shot, but he didn’t feel the same hero-worship for him that was on Sam’s face now as he listened to their mother’s story.

“He is,” Mary said seriously.

“Okay,” Bobby said. “We’re all okay and we have the Colt. Do we get to see it now?”

Mary beamed and nodded. She reached across the table and lifted a clasp and then the lid, revealing the old gun in its black velvet seating.

“God damn,” Bobby breathed. “That’s it.”

Sam moved closer and peered down at it. “It really is. It’s the gun I saw Colt testing. We really have it.”

Dean pulled the box towards him and lifted out the gun, everyone’s eyes on him.

It was heavier than he expected, and the balance was different from what he was used to, but there was something special about the way it felt in his hand, the rightness of it. It was as if it had always belonged to them really. Elkins had just been a custodian. Colt had made it for them, for this fight; to stop this demon.

It was a stupid idea, but undeniable. It was theirs. And now it had been formally given to them as a Winchester legacy.

He ran his finger along the engraved barrel and then handed it to Bobby who held it reverently for a long moment and then handed it to Mary who smoothed a hand over it and tucked it back in the box.

“We need to protect it,” she said.

“Curse box,” Dean suggested. “We don’t want demons getting their hands on it.”

“We sure don’t,” Bobby agreed. “And we’ll keep it in the safe until it’s time to use it. I can’t speak for you all, but I know it’ll be pretty damn tempting to me to have it on hand all the time, and that could mean a spent bullet. We’ve gotta save them for The Demon.”

Dean nodded his agreement. He knew what Bobby meant. If he’d had that gun when facing the shapeshifter that had stolen Jessica’s face, hurt his brother so severely, he would have shot it without a second thought and that would have been a wasted bullet when they had silver that could do the same job. They had to be so careful.

“We need to tell Clark the same thing,” Bobby said. “He can’t…”

“Tell me what?” a voice asked.

Dean spun in his chair and saw Clark had appeared in the hall. It was the same insubstantial shape as Sam and his feet made no sound as they walked around the table to stand beside Sam. He was grinning, but Dean thought he looked a little strained.

“That we’ve got to protect the gun,” Sam said. “Only use the bullets on the demons we _have_ to kill.”

“Agreed,” Clark said. “I only need one bullet. I’ll make the shot count.”

“So will we,” Sam said, his tone hard.

Clark stared at him for a moment and then nodded.

“How are you, Clark?” Mary asked.

Clark shrugged. “I’m getting a bullet dug out of my arm right now, so I can’t say it’s my best day, but we got what we needed, so I’m calling it a win.”

Sam looked startled. “You can project while you’re in pain?”

“Yep. It actually helps. It was hurting like hell, so I figured a visit on my favorite dysfunctional family was a better way to spend the time.” Casting Sam an appraising look he rolled his eyes and said, “It’s all practice and power, Sammy. I have the practice, years of it, and, god damn, you have the power. You’ll be able to do it too soon.”

Sam didn’t look pleased, but he nodded. Dean figured hearing about all the power he had still wasn’t a comfortable experience.

“Did I miss the recriminations and drama?” Clark asked. “Did you have a tantrum about Momma Mary coming along to Elkins’ place, Sammy?”

Dean’s eyes moved to Sam, realizing Sam hadn’t yet said anything about that, but he must have strong feelings about it since Mary had essentially lied to him again.

Sam scowled at Clark and said, “Sorry to disappoint, but there’s no tantrum.” He smiled at Mary. “If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have known you were going along anyway. You wouldn’t have let Clark face him alone after what I saw. I was caught up in what I saw happen to Dean, so I didn’t see, but I get it. You’re a hunter as well as a mother.”

Mary looked pleased and she smiled at Sam with softness in her eyes that Dean had only ever seen when she was with one of them. “Thank you for understanding.”

Clark clapped his hands together and said, “Okay then, touching moment over. Let’s get back to what matters. We have the weapon, now we need the target. What are you planning on doing next? I’m guessing it’s more than sticking close to Sammy and shooting Azazel when he comes to pick him up for their date.”

“We’re killing him before he can even think of coming for Sam,” Dean growled.

“Good to see you’re being proactive,” Clark said, tipping Sam a wink. “So how are you doing that?”

“We’ll use the program,” Mary said. “If it comes topside, we’ll find it. I’ll go to see Ash again, see if there are any more tricks up his sleeve that he hasn’t shown us yet. As soon as we see the big signs, we go.”

“You might want to try shaking down a couple of demons, too,” Clark said. “They might know where he likes to hang out. Sammy, you want to try with your own pet?”

“Yeah. I’ll go now,” Sam said. “If I hear anything, I’ll call.”

“Good,” Clark said. “I’ll go back and see if the bullet’s out then head out and see if I can find anything good to bring for show and tell.” He pointed at the gun. “Get that thing locked up. I didn’t get shot for you to lose it to some half-assed burglar.”

“We will,” Mary said. “We’re going to…” Before she could finish, Clark and Sam were gone.

“Not much for goodbyes are they,” Bobby said.

“Clark’s an asshole, and Sam’s distracted,” Dean said. “Clark’s right though. We need to get it locked it up and warded like we said.”

“I’ll do it,” Bobby said, getting to his feet and picking up the box then carrying it into the hall where the safe was concealed in a cupboard.

“Do you need to sleep before we go to The Roadhouse, Mom?” Dean asked.

“No, I’m too wired to sleep still. I’ll crash later, but while I’m still going, we should speak to Ash. I’ll just clean up.”

She left Dean sitting alone at the table and he took a moment to just breathe before getting to his feet and grabbing the keys to the Impala from the hook and called a farewell to Bobby before heading outside.

He was feeling positive, buzzed. They had the weapon and, for the first time since this whole nightmare started, he felt that they were the ones with the advantage. The demon could come now, but they were armed.

They could kill it. 

xXx

Sam was in the kitchen, washing the dishes from the lunch he and Jim had just finished. Jim had gone into the church with Mae to discuss arrangements for an upcoming wedding service, and Sam had offered to clean up. Mae had argued at first, but Sam had explained that he liked to do it as it gave him time to think and she’d given him a smile and her agreement that he could do the chore.

Sam was thinking, his mind mulling over everything that had happened as he dunked the plates in the hot water and scrubbed them. There was so much that his thoughts seemed to follow endless paths.

They had the Colt now. That had been the mission for so long, the one thing they needed more than anything, and at last, it was theirs. All they needed now was the right demon to shoot.

He was confident he would be able to play his part. Every facet of his powers came easier to him now. Astral projection was as easy as breathing, no pain involved at all, and the visions that he’d had hurt, but the pain had been manageable. Telekinesis was even easier. Only working with the demon was the real challenge to him now. It still hurt. He knew why and would bear the pain without complaint rather the do what Jim believed it would take to make it painless—blood.

He never pressed Sam about it, never tried to encourage him to treat himself with the same ‘medicine’ he’d taken in Mount Hammond, but Sam sometimes thought he saw the words among the tightness of his eyes and his mouth set into a thin line. Jim was consumed with the mission, scared of The Demon, and Sam understood it. He was scared, too, but he would never let more of that poison pass his lips. 

He was finding it easier to be around Jim now, too, where he had struggled at first. He accepted he was two different people and that neither of them meant Sam harm. The Jim who stood with him as he worked on the demon, encouraging with a manic gleam in his eyes, was the man that had been created in Mount Hammond. The man who offered painkillers and advised him to rest when it was over was the man he had become since then.

Neither version of him was bad, but one was more dangerous than he’d believed before he heard his story. He was far more of a hunter than Sam had known.

Having grown up with the main impressions of hunters being his mom and Bobby, he’d not seen the difference in them to other more hardened hunters until he was older and spending time at the Roadhouse among others. Jim wasn’t like Mary and Bobby the way he’d always believed; he was far more dangerous. 

He rinsed the plate he was cleaning and set it in the drainer then picked up the skillet. He grabbed the scourer and then froze as a spike of pain speared his head. He dropped the skillet, splashing sudsy water over his shirt and the counter, and then took a breath as he sank into the vision.

He found himself standing in the middle of Bobby’s kitchen, looking into the library where a nightmare was taking place. Mary was standing pressed against the wall, with Bobby standing in front of her, a knife in his hand that was pressing against her throat. Dean was behind Bobby, pleading with him to let her go.

Sam staggered a step forward and reached for Bobby, so consumed by what he was seeing that the fact he wasn’t really there, that he was helpless, didn’t occur to him.

“You won’t kill me,” Mary said weakly. “You can’t.”

“You’re dead wrong,” Bobby said. “I can and will.”

Sam didn’t understand what was happening, whether Bobby was possessed or something was controlling him somehow, but his fear was paramount. He was just a spectator though, torn between seeing what happened and finding a way to yank himself out of this vision to find a way to protect the people he loved.

Before he could decide in either direction, the vision took a turn and he cried out in pain. Dean pulled a gun from the back of his pants and fired a single shot into Bobby’s back. Bobby jerked and fell forward as his legs gave out. At the same moment his hand jolted out and Sam saw the knife moving towards Mary’s throat.

He cried out in shock and pain as the vision faded and he found himself standing in Jim’s kitchen, his hands gripping the basin to hold himself upright, his head pounding and his heart racing.

The horror of what he had just seen was strong within him and he had to take two deep breaths before he could move. He rushed to the table where he’d left his phone and hit the speed dial for Dean at the same moment he ran into the hall and grabbed the key’s to Jim’s car from the dish on the small table beside the coat rack.

Dean answered with a relaxed, “Hey, Sammy, you okay?”

Sam sucked in a breath and spoke in a rush. “Where are you?”

“Just outside Lincoln. What’s wrong?”

“Don’t go home,” Sam said, reaching the car and yanking open the door. “Go to The Roadhouse and stay there. Lock yourselves in. If you see Bobby, run. Whatever you do, don’t go near him. Don’t let him near Mom”

“What’s wrong with Bobby?” Dean asked, an edge of fear in his voice. “What did you see?”

“It doesn’t matter what I saw,” Sam said. “I’m going to stop it. Just drive. Get to Ellen and Bill. Protect yourself. Do _not_ go home.”

Over the sound of Mary shouting questions in the background of the call, Dean said, “But if Bobby needs us…”

“No! Bobby isn’t Bobby right now. He’s dangerous.”

“Is he possessed?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. I’ve got to go. I need to call Clark. I need his help.”

“We’ll come, too,” Dean said.

“You can’t!” Sam snapped. “I told you!”

“What the hell did you see, Sam?” Dean asked.

Sam took a breath. “I just saw half of my family die.”

Dean sucked in a breath. “You can’t go there. It’s not safe.”

“I can protect myself,” Sam said. “I’ll stop it. I’ll save Bobby, but you have to stay away. I’m begging you, Dean, don’t go home. Keep yourself safe. Please.”

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean said. “I will. But you’ve got to be careful. And make sure Clark goes in with you. Don’t go into this alone, you understand?”

“I won’t,” Sam said. “I’ve got to go.”

“Okay, man. Call as soon as you can.”

“I will.”

Sam ended the call and gunned the engine to life as he hit the fourth speed dial, the one programmed to Clark’s cell. He needed help and he was going to get it, but he also knew what he had to do.

If Clark wasn’t there in time, he was going in alone. He was going to stop Bobby, save him from whatever was doing this to him.

He was going to protect his family.


	17. Chapter 17

Bobby was at his desk, the laptop running the demon tracking program set to the side, the screen facing him, and a book open in front of him. He was looking up information on The Demon, seeing if he could find any mention of him in his oldest texts. His reasoning was that the more they knew, the better prepared they would be. He hadn’t found anything yet though, so was just passing time until Mary and Dean got back or Clark arrived with a demon to lock down in the basement to question.

Thoughts of Mary and Dean drew him towards Sam and the situation they were in. Since he’d gotten that call from the hospital, saying Sam had been admitted following the fire, things had seemed to spiral out of control. Sam had been so ill and then, when he’d recovered physically, he’d been so emotionally injured. At times, Bobby had thought they would never get him back.

They’d all been sideswiped by the knowledge that Sam was psychic and the threat he was under, but they’d pulled together and handled it. They’d had help from Missouri and Clark, and things had seemed to be getting better before Mary’s secret was revealed and Sam took off. They’d gone weeks and weeks not knowing where he was and what was happening to him, and when they’d found him, living a lie with that vile shapeshifter, things had spiraled down again. The Demon’s machinations had been revealed to be even crueler than they had imagined, and Sam was in so much pain. Bobby had been helpless.

There had been some form of relief when Sam had gone to Jim’s, as they’d thought he could find some comfort in the place that had always been peaceful for him, but he’d seen that vision and Jim had told his story.

When they’d been listening to it, watching Sam as Jim spoke and he occasionally added his own parts, Bobby had believed that it was the end for Sam, that he could not come back from this kind of pressure, but he had. He was stronger than ever. They all were.

Mary was scared for her sons, but she was doing a good job of hiding that from them, offering them the support and comfort they needed, showing her strength.

Sam was training those powers that Bobby couldn’t understand properly. And he was handling it all so well. It had to be impossible for him to have gone through everything he had in the last six months, from happy college kid living with the woman he loved and only a peripheral presence in the hunting world to powerful psychic with a place in some demon’s plan and a threat hanging over him, but Sam was dealing with it now better than ever.

And Dean… Bobby thought this was harder for Dean to handle that Mary or Bobby combined. He was the big brother, and he’d always been the natural hunter. He loved Sam, and Bobby knew he would change places with him in a heartbeat if it could protect Sam from it, but he couldn’t. He was forced to support from the sidelines, to help them find the Colt and track the demon. He was a man of action, a protector of life, but protecting the life that mattered most to him was basically out of his hands. He would be there for the end, he might even be the one that pulled the trigger, but it would be Sam, holding the demon, that would really be saving himself.

Bobby looked up as he heard a laugh from outside the door and it swung open. Mary and Dean came in, both beaming, and Dean raised a hand in greeting to them.

“What happened?” Bobby asked. “I thought you were going to The Roadhouse.”

Dean threw up his arms, his eyes wide with amusement. “The damn car crapped out on the highway. We had to walk home.”

Bobby frowned. “You run out of gas?”

“Maybe,” Dean said. “Who knows. I’ll head out with the truck later and tow it back.”

Mary patted his arm. “Of course you’d forget gas, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Laugh it up, Mom. We all know you never do anything stupid.”

Bobby watched them for a moment, Dean busying himself at the counter with coffee and Mary coming into the library and heading into the hall, saying, “Be right back.”

Bobby had been hunting a long time and he’d learned to trust his instincts, and right now they were screaming that something was wrong.

He knew Mary and Dean, they were his family and had been for years, and he could tell something wasn’t right with them.

The Impala had run out of gas on the highway, unlikely but possible—so much had been happening he could have forgotten to fill it up. Dean leaving the Impala sitting on the highway while he got coffee instead of heading out and towing his baby back, impossible. Mary teasing him about it, implying that Dean had a bad memory, plain wrong. Dean’s mind was honed as a hunter. He was proud of his abilities to recall. Mary said he’d mastered the exorcism fast enough, and Bobby had seen enough report cards over the years to know Dean had no problem remembering what he’s studied.

Something was very wrong.

“If you’ve walked home, you’ll be tired,” he said. “I’ll make the coffee. You sit.”

“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean said, walking into the library and flopping down onto the couch.

Bobby went into the kitchen and reached for the bottle of holy water in the fridge disguised as one of Sam’s water bottles for when he went running—not that he’d been in a long time. He tipped some into a mug and then reached for the coffee pot, but Mary called from the hall, distracting him.

“Bobby, the combination isn’t working on the safe. Did you change it?”

The hairs on the back of his neck prickling, Bobby turned and said, “What? Can’t hear you?”

She came into the room, a frown on her brow and said, “The safe. I can’t get it open.”

“Why do you want to?” Bobby asked.

Mary shrugged. “I just wanted to see the Colt again. I guess I need to reassure myself we have it still. Did you change the combination? What is it?”

Bobby hesitated a moment before answering, “I’ll get it out.”

Mary smirked. “You don’t trust me, Bobby?”

Bobby turned away and grabbed the bottle of holy water. He splashed it at her face as he said, “Mary I trust. Demons I don’t.”

He expected Mary’s skin to smoke and hiss, but it didn’t. There was no reaction. Mary just wiped a hand over her face and said, “I’m not a demon, Bobby.”

Dean came into the kitchen laughing. “What’s going on? You having some kind of funny turn? You know we’ve got the tattoos now. We can’t be possessed.”

Mind working fast, Bobby forced a laugh and said, “Yeah, forgot about them. I guess I’m just being paranoid. Sorry, Mary. Honestly, I forgot the combination. I wrote it down though. I’ll get it.”

He skirted around them and went to his desk where he pulled open a drawer and took out the silver knife he kept concealed among his papers. He tucked it up his sleeve and picked up a scrap of paper which he carried back to them and said, “I’ve got it.”

Mary narrowed her eyes. “That’s not all you’ve got, is it, old man?”

She walked towards Bobby, her eyes glinting with amusement, and he had a split second to act. She seemed confident in her ability to overpower him, and if she was a shapeshifter, she would probably be able to. Bobby had to be faster.

He dropped his shoulder and ran at her, shoving her against the wall at the same moment he pulled the knife and brought it up to her throat.

She looked scared, surprised that Bobby had been able to overpower her, and her words were weak as she said, “You won’t kill me. You can’t.”

“You’re dead wrong,” Bobby said. “I can and will.”

He pushed the knife forward, planning to confirm his belief that she was a shapeshifter. But before he could touch her skin with the blade, the door behind him flew open with a bang and he felt himself being yanked back from Mary and thrown to the floor as if a high wind had caught him and pinned him. The knife dropped from his hand and it was snatched up by invisible fingers.

He sucked a breath into lungs that had been flattened by the impact with the floor and looked up at Sam’s furious face as he stood over him.

“Monster,” Sam growled.

“No!” Bobby gasped. “It’s them. They’re—”

“Make him stop!” Mary wailed. “I can’t hear him say those things looking like that.”

Bobby couldn’t finish the words before he felt a jolt to his chin that snapped his teeth closed and locked his jaw.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Sam asked, reaching for his mother and pulling her into his arms.

“He was going to kill me, Sam,” Mary said weakly. “He was going to stab me. I don’t understand…”

“I saw it,” Sam said, patting her back. “I saw it all.” He released his mother and walked to Dean who was holding a gun in his hand. “You don’t need that.”

Dean handed him the gun and said, “He’s a shapeshifter. Mom tested him with silver. That’s when he tried to stab her. Did you see?”

“No,” Sam said. “I just saw him pinning her with the knife. You shot him, Dean, and…” He shuddered. “I think he killed Mom as he went down. The vision cut off, but…”

“Thank god you saw it,” Dean whispered.

Sam’s jaw clenched. “What are you even doing here? I told you not to come.”

Dean’s eyes became wet. “We were worried, Sammy. We’ve almost lost you once already this year. Neither of us could risk it happening again. We thought we could stop it happening if we came together, and you would be safe. We were trying to protect you.”

Sam sagged and hugged his brother. Dean gripped him in return and said, “It’s okay. We’re all okay now.”

“What about Bobby?” Mary asked. “The real Bobby has to be somewhere.”

Sam turned on Bobby and glared. “Where is he?”

Bobby felt the pressure against him jaw lift and he said, “I _am_ Bobby, Sam. It’s them that are the monsters. You’ve got to believe me.”

Sam jerked up a hand and snapped Bobby’s mouth closed again, this time catching the tip of his tongue between his teeth and making blood fill Bobby’s mouth. Unable to spit it out, Bobby swallowed and felt his stomach roll with nausea. 

“We need to tie him up,” Mary said. “You’re going to hurt yourself using your power like this.” She brushed a hand over Sam’s furrowed brow. “You’re in pain, I can tell.”

Sam shook his head. “It’s the aftereffects of the vision. I’ve got a good hold on him.”

“Still, we should tie him down,” Dean said.

“I’ll get ropes,” Mary said.

Dean dragged a chair up behind Bobby and Sam dropped his hold on him so they could both haul him up and pin him in place as Mary came back and began to wrap the ropes around his chest, tying him firmly to the chair. Mary yanked open his jaw and gagged him with a twisted cloth from the counter.

Sam stood back and watched him for a moment, hatred in his eyes, and then said. “We need him to talk.”

Mary winced, playing the perfect part of being afraid, and said, “I can’t bear it, Sam. The things he said to us before you got here. Shouldn’t we just kill him?”

Dean shot her a sharp look and Bobby guessed killing him wasn’t their orders. They’d just come for the Colt.

“We need to know where Bobby is first,” Sam said. “You don’t have to stay, Mom. I can do it. I’ll make him talk.”

Bobby’s eyes bugged. There was fear on Sam’s face, but also resolution. He was really going to do this, torture him.

The boy that had set off for his last year at college last summer, the one that would never even contemplate something like this, was really gone. Bobby’s boy was gone.

Everything that had happened, everything he had been through, had stolen the innocence they had all—Mary, Dean, _and_ Bobby—tried to nurture in him as he was the one that should have no reason to discard it as a civilian. 

Sam picked the up the silver knife Bobby had dropped and walked towards him with it clutched in his hands. He dropped the hold on Bobby’s jaw and Bobby spat the blood that was filling his mouth again and said, “They’re shapeshifters, Sam! Test them!”

Sam frowned and glanced at his mother who was wide-eyed and imploring. “You _know_ us, Sam. You’d see the difference.”

“Test them!” Bobby shouted.

Sam walked towards Mary who backed away. Bobby saw the resolution in Dean’s eyes as he grabbed the lamp from the cabinet and lifted it into the air. Bobby shouted a warning to Sam who half-turned, but before he could protect himself, Dean was slamming the heavy base of the lamp into the side of his head and he was dropping bonelessly to the floor.

“We weren’t supposed to hurt him!” Mary gasped. “We had orders!”

Dean set the lamp down again and shrugged. “He’ll live. Besides, we need that gun or we’re both dead. I’ll take my chances for giving the ‘special one’ a headache over failing to get it.” He plucked the knife out of Sam’s hand and raised it to Bobby’s cheek.

“You’re going to die for this,” Bobby growled. “Your boss will kill you for hurting Sam, and you know it.”

“I don’t think so,” Dean said. “He wants that gun more than he wants him. He might be the favorite, but there are a lot more out them like him. Now…” He edged the knife forward, breaking the skin of Bobby’s cheek, and said, “What’s the combination?”

“Do what you want to me, I’m not giving up that gun,” Bobby snarled.

Mary picked up the lamp and slammed it down on Bobby’s left arm. He felt something break and he cried out unwillingly as pain seared.

“You sure about that?” she asked.

Bobby panted through pain and sneered at her. “Screw you.”

She lifted the lamp again and raised it above her head.

Bobby closed his eyes and braced himself for pain, but before it could come, he heard a shout and two distinct thuds.

His eyes flew open to see Clark striding into the room and Mary and Dean pinned to opposite walls.

Clark looked from the shapeshifters to Bobby, his eyes settling on Sam and a frown crossing his brow. “Okay,” he said slowly, “what did I miss?”

xXx

Awareness came to Sam with pain. He cracked open his eyes and snapped them closed again as the light above him seared his head. He took a moment and then forced them open again. He was lying on the couch in the library. Bobby was sitting opposite him, his right arm held in a sling made of a scarf, and his eyes concerned.

“How are you feeling, Sam?” he asked, his tone gentler than usual.

Sam’s mind worked through his physical state and then rushed into memories of what had happened. He sat up quickly and tried to scramble to his feet, “Shifter!”

“He’s really not,” Clark said from across the room. “He’s the human.”

Sam’s eyes moved to the kitchen where the table had been shoved aside and Mary and Dean sat in chairs, their torsos wrapped in ropes and small cuts on their exposed arms.

“They’re shapeshifters,” Clark went on. “It’s quite telling that you couldn’t tell the difference, Sammy. Didn’t you even check their auras?”

“No, I was busy stopping Bobby killing my mom!” Sam snapped.

“Except it wasn’t really her, was it?” Clark said. 

“He didn’t know that, Clark,” Bobby said. “Any of us would have been fooled. Now, let’s get these two dealt with before the real Mary and Dean show up. They didn’t seem too keen on the idea of staying put when I called them.”

Clark shrugged and said, “Okay. Who needs painkillers before the fun starts?”

Sam shook his head and immediately regretted it as it made pain pound.

“You’re acting like this is the first time some fugly broke one of my bones. I’ll be fine,” Bobby said.

“Sure you will,” Clark said. “And you could have gotten the sling on by yourself, too. Face it, Singer, I’m Florence Damn Nightingale today.”

Sam got to his feet and walked towards the bound shapeshifters. “Do we know why they’re here?” he asked, his tone scathing.

The fact this had happened again, that The Demon would take more people he loved and use them against him, had incensed him and horrified him in equal measure. How was he supposed to trust his judgment when he didn’t even see that they were monsters instead of his family? And how many more were there? Was there a copy of Bobby out there somewhere, too? Would he have to check every person’s aura in the future before he could relax?

“They want the Colt,” Clark said.

“How do they even know we have it?” Sam asked.

Clark huffed a laugh. “Same way they know everything else, like the fact your powers have kicked up a notch, that Missouri was training you, then me and now Jim. The same way they know you’re working on your demon-oriented powers now. They get the full mental download from the real Mary and Dean. I’m guessing there’s some lag, it’s got to take time for them to catch up with current Winchester events, but they’re the evening news for The Demon.”

Sam gasped. “They know everything?”

Clark nodded. “Afraid so. The connection ends now though. We’ll kill them.”

“What if there are more of us out there?” Bobby asked. “They could have me copied. Hell, they could have you, too.”

Clark considered a moment and then nodded. “Good point. Let’s ask.”

He picked up the silver knife from the table and approached Mary. “How many of you are there?”

She glared up at him. “You think I’ll talk because you hurt me?”

“I know you will,” Clark said.

He traced a cut from Mary’s eye down to the jaw. The skin reacted to the touch of silver and she hissed between her teeth, but her eyes remained hard. It was painful for Sam to see his mother being hurt like that. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t her to stop himself stepping in and grabbing the knife from Clark.

“I’ll tell you nothing.”

Clark shrugged and moved to Dean. “Let’s see if you’re more chatty. Hmm... let’s see. I can’t think of a reason for you to have two eyes anymore. Let’s start there.” He slowly moved the knife to Dean’s left eye and the shapeshifter gasped and pulled his head back as far as he could.

“It’s just us left!” he gasped. “We got these two in Oregon before it all started. We were cops. We sent them after a wendigo in the wilderness so they’d be out of the way for the fire.” He sucked in a heaving breath. “Azazel sent two of us after the kid and his girlfriend, too, but only the girlfriend could be copied. The special one was protected somehow.” His eyes fixed on Sam and he said, “And we tried to stop it! We hid from Azazel. We were never in it for the money the way ‘Jessica’ was. We just wanted a quiet life. He found us though and we had to help him. Please, don’t kill us.”

Mary glared at him and said, “Begging, seriously? You always were a damn stupid, cowardly… Do you really think they’re letting us go alive? They don’t care that we tried to help them. They’re hunters. But you're giving them everything!”

Clark crossed his arms over his chest and said, “We are hunters. But we might be persuaded to let you go if you come up with the goods. What’s Azazel’s big plan? Why does he want Sam and the others? Why did he dose them?”

Again, it was Dean that answered. Mary seemed bored. Though Dean had been the one to knock Sam out, he thought that was because he was the one that was more scared of failing The Demon.

“They all had the right bloodline,” Dean said. “The demon made the deals with the parents to get it and dosed them all. But he found him”—he jerked his head at Sam—“and realized that he had to be the one. He was so powerful already. He just had to wait for what was in the blood to come out.”

“You know a lot,” Bobby said gruffly. “Is Yellow-Eyes dumb enough to tell you idjits everything he’s thinking?”

“It was our handler,” Mary said in a bored tone. “He likes to show off what he knows, how much Azazel tells him.” She snorted. “He’s just a kid, barely a decade out of Hell.”

“What does he want me to do?” Sam asked.

When neither answered, Clark allowed the knife to drift towards Dean’s eye again.

“We don’t know!” he shouted, his chest heaving with his panting breaths. “I swear, we don’t. Not even Brady knows. Only Meg and Tom know it all.”

Sam felt a lurch in his stomach, and he forced his tone to remain even as he said, “Tyson Brady?”

Mary smirked. “Yeah, your BFF has been Team Azazel us for a while now, ever since he got his baby blues turned black. You should give him a call, catch up on his news.”

Sam took a step back and tried to hide the shock he was feeling. Brady was a demon!

He wasn’t sure what was worse, the knowledge that there had been a demon in his and Jessica’s life, one that they’d confided in and shared many good times, or the fact that, because of Sam, his best friend had been taken over by a monster and he’d not realized.

He swallowed hard and said, “What is Azazel doing now?”

Dean fixed his fear-filled eyes on Sam and said, “Waiting. He was waiting for the time to come, but now he’s waiting for you. He knows you’re nearly ready. He doesn’t think he needs the others anymore, but he has to follow the rules.”

“What rules?” Bobby asked.

“All the generations have been tested,” Dean said. “They were all gathered before, but they all died. There wasn’t enough blood in them to handle the powers, and then there was the uprising. Some of this generation have struggled, too, but they’re all alive still because you were given more as babies. The others are just learning, testing themselves, but he’ll come for them soon. You will gather and prove yourself.”

Sam nodded stiffly. “And where is he taking us?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said, then began to babble as Clark inched the knife closer to his eyes. “I really don’t. It’s been somewhere different each time.”

Clark looked over his shoulder at Sam and said, “You think there’s anything else we need to know?”

Sam shook his head. “Bobby?”

Bobby considered a moment and then said, “No. I think we got everything useful out of them. We should put them down.”

Clark lifted the knife and pressed it to Dean’s chest, right over his heart, but Sam caught his arm and stopped him. “I’ll do it.”

Clark frowned. “Seriously, Sam, you don’t need to do that.”

“I do,” Sam said. “It’s not really them, and I can hurt The Demon like this. These are the last connection he had to us. Without them, he’ll be blind. I want to be the one to do that to him.”

It was more than that. As much as the thought of killing the creatures that wore his mother and brother’s faces horrified him, he had to be the one to end it for them all. Mary and Dean had been violated just as Jessica’s memory had been, the privacy of their own minds taken and exploited for The Demon’s gain. Sam was going to avenge that. 

Clark handed him the knife and Sam gripped it and then held it high over Dean.

“Don’t do this, Sammy,” he begged, sounding so much like Sam’s real brother. “Let me go and I’ll make sure you never see me again. I’ll take a different shape so I don’t have the connection. Please! I’m Dean where it matters. I know what he thinks and feels because it’s the same for me. You’re my brother and I love you. Please…”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pushed down the horror that he was feeling, and then opened them and drove the knife into Dean’s heart. He bucked and then stilled, a trickle of blood coming from his mouth.

Mary was screeching laughter, her eyes mad with amusement. “He’s not your brother,” she gasped between bouts. “I’m not your mother, but when you go to sleep, it’s their faces you’re going to see again and again as we die. You will never be able to—”

Sam shoved the knife into her, cutting off her words, then yanked it out and dropped it to the floor.

A hand settled on his shoulder and it took a moment for him to find the will to look to see who was comforting him. He was surprised to see it was Clark, and he looked concerned.

“It’s done, Sam,” Clark said. “They’re gone. You did the right thing.”

“I know,” Sam said with a heavy sigh.

“Let’s get them outside and buried,” Clark said. “I’m guessing you don’t want the real Dean and Mother Mary seeing the evidence of what happened. And then we need to get you both to a hospital. Singer needs his arm set, and we should get you checked out too, Sam. You were unconscious a while.”

Sam nodded his agreement. He didn’t think he was that badly hurt, but it was better to be careful, and he wanted Bobby taken care of without the fuss he’d make if Sam resisted. He would burn the bodies of these monsters and then take care of himself.

And then, when it was over, he was going to California to save his friend from another monster. 


	18. Chapter 18

Dean skidded the Impala to a halt beside Clark’s truck in the parking lot of Sioux Falls General and threw open the door.

Mary was doing the same on the other side, and they met at the entrance.

Dean rushed through the automatic doors and into the large ER waiting room. He went straight to the information desk, but someone caught his shoulder and steered him away. He looked up and saw Clark. He led them to a corner and narrowed his eyes, staring at Dean and then Mary.

“It’s really you this time,” he remarked. “You’ve lost all the muddy pink in your aura, Mary. That’s what happens when you get stuff off your chest.”

Dean cut across him. “Where’s Sam and Bobby?” 

Clark sighed. “Singer’s getting a cast put on his broken arm and Sam’s being checked out still. They sent me out when they took him for a CT scan a while ago.”

Mary gasped. “He needed a CT scan!”

“What the hell happened?” Dean growled, his heart racing.

Clark walked away to a quiet area of seating and dropped down into a seat and then watched them expectantly.

Mary went to sit with him, her hands clenched in her lap and her eyes tight with tension. Dean stayed where he was, unable to sit down and relax while he was so tense.

“We don’t want an audience, Dean,” Clark called to him.

Hating Clark, wanting to punch him for not delivering the information they needed now when they were frantic, Dean threw himself down in the seat opposite Clark and said, “Talk!”

Clark looked around, giving a man with an icepack pressed to his shoulder a pointed glare until he looked away and turned his attention to the posters on the wall, and then said, “We had visitors. The same kind of visitor that Jessica was.”

“Shapeshifters!” Mary said, his voice pitched high.

Clark rolled his eyes. “Bit louder, Mary? I thought you had some kind of image in this town.” He dropped his voice. “Yes, shapeshifters. They came for the Colt. Sam saw them killing Singer and he came to the rescue, but he got things a bit mixed up.”

“Wait! Sam said there was something wrong with Bobby.”

“Mixed up,” Clark said. “He saw Bobby trying to kill the shifters, and when he arrived, he was tricked by the shifters. I got there a second too late to stop them breaking Singer’s arm. They’d already knocked Sam out.”

“Who were they?” Mary asked.

Dean already knew. “It was us, wasn’t it?”

Clark nodded. “Yep. They took your shape just before the fire apparently, something about cops and a wendigo hunt. They’d been following the Winchester Show through the psychic connection. Everything you did was reported back to Azazel. Or most of it. One of them said they tried to resist, to hide, but I’m not sure I believe them. Either way, the connection was there.”

“Oh god,” Mary breathed.

Dean felt sick, violated. Every thought he’d had since the fire was shared with someone else, passed along to The Demon. His fear when Sam was in the hospital, his worry when he came out and seemed to feel nothing, his anger at his mother for the lies, it had all been downloaded to a monster’s mind. 

“Tell me they’re dead,” he growled.

Clark nodded, a strange look in his eyes. “They’re dead. Silver to the heart.”

“Who did it?” Mary asked.

“You want to know who had the stomach to kill you?” Clark asked with a raised eyebrow. “It’s probably better you don’t know.”

There was only one person that would shock them, and Dean thought that had to be who Clark was trying to protect. Mary was clearly thinking along the same lines as she said, “Sam did it!”

Clark narrowed his eyes. “Yes, Sam killed two _monsters_. They might have looked like you, but they’d already proven how different they really were from your saintly selves. Get your shock and awe out now before Sam sees you. He doesn’t need it.”

“We know how to take care of Sam,” Dean said brutally. “We don’t need telling by you.”

Clark shrugged. “Whatever. I’m just looking out for the kid. He’s had a hell of a day.”

Mary shot him an assessing look and then stood and walked to the desk. Dean quickly followed and stood at her side as she asked where they could find Sam Winchester.

The woman behind the desk checked her computer and said, “He appears to have been discharged.” She frowned. “I’m sure he’ll be out in a moment.”

Dean strode back to Clark. “They said Sam’s been discharged. Where is he?”

Clark shrugged. “Restroom?”

“Can you look?” Mary asked.

Clark sighed and relaxed in his seat then snorted and said, “We can all look. He’s coming.”

Dean spun and saw Sam and Bobby coming out of a swinging door and making their way over to them. Sam looked a little pale and tired, and Bobby’s left arm was in a cast, but they seemed otherwise okay.

Dean started towards Sam and Sam rushed at him. He dragged Dean into a hug that knocked the air out of Deans’ lungs, and his tight grip made it hard to draw a new one. He felt a hand settle on his shoulder and then Sam’s grip released long enough for Dean to gasp in a breath and then Mary was pressed against his side as Sam embraced them both together.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” he said.

Sam clung to him a moment longer and then released them both and said, “Are you okay?”

Dean snorted. “We weren’t the ones that had a CT.”

Sam shook his head impatiently. “I’m fine. Mild concussion. They discharged me to Bobby’s care. I can’t drive for a few days, so I’ll stay home awhile.”

Mary cupped his cheeks in her hands and stared into his eyes. “Are you really okay?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “Visions hurt worse than what they did to me.”

Mary nodded and turned to Bobby. “How are you?”

“Fractured radius. I’ve got to wear this damn fool thing for six weeks, but it was a clean break so should be no trouble healing. I got off lucky. They would have killed me if Clark hadn’t come. They wanted that gun, Mary. We’ve got to be damn careful with it.”

Mary nodded. “We will. We’re not taking it out until we need to.”

“Great,” Clark said. “Can we get out of here now? Hospitals make me itch.”

Bobby nodded eagerly, giving his cast a glare that Dean thought was going to be familiar for the following weeks while Bobby was weakened.

They walked together to the exit and Clark steered Sam over to his truck. “You’re with me, Sammy. We need to talk.”

Sam nodded and climbed into the shotgun seat.

Dean watched as the door closed behind him and Clark and then said, “What’s that about?”

“Brady probably,” Bobby said.

“Brady?”

“Ah, I’m guessing Clark didn’t fill you in on that piece of trivia. Sam’s college friend Brady is a demon.”

Mary gasped. “Brady’s a demon? That nice kid that saved Sam from the fire?”

“Yep. We should have figured in before. All of Jim’s generation had a guard, too, and his was a college buddy. Sam was talking when we were burying the ashes and… you know. He’s pretty set on getting his friend back. He’s going to need a couple days before he can drive, but when he can, I’m betting his next stop is California for an exorcism.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as yet another piece of The Demon’s plan fell into place. He had done so much more than kill John and Jessica. He had infiltrated every part of Sam’s life, his friends, his family.

Dean could kill him dead with the Colt, but it would never be enough to pay him back for what he had done to Sam, to them all.

There was no revenge big enough for that. 

xXx

Sam was in the guest room of Jim’s house, standing by the window and pressing the phone tight to his ear as if that would make help him to make out what Ash was saying over the background noise of The Roadhouse on Ash’s side of the call.

“What was that?”

 _“I said I’ve got nothing!”_ Ash shouted. _“Not a thing. His credit cards haven’t been used and he’s not showing up for classes. And his GPS isn’t registering. I’m sorry, Sam, but I don’t think your friend wants to be found.”_

Sam cursed. He should have known it wouldn’t be easy to find Brady now that he actually wanted to. The fact the shapeshifters hadn’t come back with the Colt would have tipped him off that something had gone wrong, so he’d gone to ground.

And Sam was getting desperate. He wanted that demon out of his friend.

As soon as he’d gotten home from the hospital, he’d called Brady’s cell, but it had gone to voicemail and none of the messages Sam had left since had been answered.

Something caught his eyes out of the window. It was Jim’s shadowy form crossing the lawn and going to the farmhouse. Confused, Sam watched, expecting him to go to the front door, but instead, Jim went to the side and bent to unlock a padlock that kept the sunken doors into the root cellar closed. He glanced over his shoulder and Sam stepped back into the shadows so he would not be visible through the window but could still see out.

Jim opened one of the doors and climbed down into it.

 _“You still there?”_ Ash asked.

“What? Uh, no. I’ve got to go,” Sam said. “Call me if you find anything. And keep an eye on the program. I want demon signs in the Palo Alto area.”

_“But you still want big ones anywhere, right?”_

“Definitely. Just keep looking, Ash. This is really important.”

 _“Everything you Winchesters want lately is important,”_ Ash said.

“I know,” Sam said. “Talk soon.”

He ended the call and turned back to the window. The door to the cellar was still open and light was pouring from it.

Sam was confused and concerned. What could Jim have in the cellar that he was hiding from Sam? He couldn’t imagine what would be worth hiding. He’d shown his real nature and told his story; he was training Sam to exorcise demons with one that they were holding prisoner, meatsuit and all; what else was there he wouldn’t want Sam to know?

For a moment, he puzzled over it and then it occurred to him that he had an easy way to find out. He could look.

He moved back to the bed and sat down, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. With a slight tugging sensation, he lifted out of his body and became weightless. He looked at his almost perfectly still body on the bed and then fixed Jim’s face in his mind and allowed himself to be pulled towards him, into the basement.

The light came from a gas lantern that sat on a table, Sam could clearly see Jim facing away from him, opposite the strangest woman Sam had ever seen. At first, Sam didn’t see the trap she was standing in as he was consumed with how she looked. Her hair was matted, and her clothes ragged and torn. The jacket she wore would once have been black leather but now it was grey with dirt and dust, cracked and torn. Resting on her chest was a silver necklace that was tarnished and dull. Her skin was ghostly white in the light of the lamp. Sam had never seen anything so pathetic in his life. He felt immediate pity for her that didn’t entirely fade when he saw the trap she stood in.

She was a demon.

“Dinner time already?” she asked as Jim approached her. “It’s early.”

“It’s taking more now,” Jim said mildly, as if commenting on the weather. He withdrew a knife from his pocket and held it in front of him. “Wrist.”

With a tired look and the smallest flinch, she pulled back the right sleeve of her jacket and held out her bare arm. Her skin was marred with so many scars Sam couldn’t quite take it in.

He thought he knew what he was seeing, but his mind rebelled. Jim couldn’t be doing _this_. He wasn’t a monster.

Sam watched with horror as Jim cut across her wrist and blood began to flow. Sam would have been sick if he had been within his body, but all his astral self could do with recoil in horror as Jim brought her wrist to his mouth and licked the trickle of blood and then sealed his lips over the wound and began to drink.

The demon looked indifferent, numb as he gulped down her blood, and Sam flinched away from the sight, He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He didn’t want to. It was awful.

His horror stole his focus and he found himself being yanked back into his body. His eyes flew open and he gasped. His heart pounded and he placed a hand over his chest, feeling its thrum.

He got to his feet and walked back to the window, waiting. He didn’t know what he was going to do next, there was only one thing he could think of, but it was a huge risk. He had no idea how long that demon had been kept there, but it had to have been months if not years, and he couldn’t let that continue. The meatsuit at least deserved freedom. He would put Jim at a huge risk if he exorcised her, but did Jim deserve his protection now?

He didn’t know what to do.

He went back to the window and waited for Jim to reappear. It didn’t take long. Soon Jim climbed out of the cellar and closed the door, the light now extinguished within. He had left the demon in the dark.

Jim crossed the yard and Sam moved to the door to listen. He heard the sound of the front door opening and closing and then footsteps on the stairs. He rushed back to his bed and laid down, feigning sleep in case Jim chose to check on him. He didn’t want Jim knowing he had seen.

His door didn’t open though. He heard running water in the adjoining bathroom and then footsteps and the click of a door closing. Sam laid with his eyes closed, mulling over what had happened. He needed to speak to that demon, to make sense of what was happening, and then he would decide what to do.

Knowing he needed to wait until Jim was sleeping before he could slip out and that it might take time after Jim’s dose of ‘medicine’, he settled in for the wait, his mind sifting through what he had seen and what he knew he had to do now.

xXx

Sam bent to the padlock and inserted the prongs of the lock pick he’d brought out with him. Bobby had taught him how to do it years ago, but the only lock he’d picked outside of practice was his own apartment door after he’d forgotten his keys one time.

He still had the skill though, and after a minute’s careful concentration, the hasp lifted and he pulled it out and dropped it onto the ground and eased open the door.

It was pitch black inside, but he’d brought his cell phone to use as a flashlight, and he lit the screen and used it to light his way down the stairs. The light met the feet of the demon and she said, “You can’t seriously want more already!”

“I’m not him,” Sam said quietly.

He made his way to the table with the cell phone lighting his way and then took a book of matches and lit the lamp. The glow spread over the room and the demon was revealed in her trap. The room smelled musty and unpleasant, and he guessed a portion of that smell was coming from her.

She looked him up and down and said, “Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Sam said.

“Are you here to feed?”

Sam winced. “No. I’m here to…”

He wasn’t sure what he was here to do. He didn’t think he could bear to leave the demon, knowing what was happening to her and the woman she was possessing, but he was scared to do the alternative.

He moved closer to the trap, wanting to seem self-assured and calm, though he was in turmoil. He had to keep reminding himself that he was facing a demon, not just a woman, but it was hard to remember when he saw how pathetic she looked. The façade faded as he got close enough to see clearly into her eyes and she flinched and her own turned pitch black.

“You _are_ here to feed,” she said. “You’re just like him. I can sense it.”

“No,” Sam said. “I’m not.”

“Then why are you here?” she asked. “I’ve been here forever and the only person I’ve ever seen is him. What do you want?”

“I want to…”

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He wanted to free the woman she was possessing, but that would put Jim in danger. If the demon went back to Hell talking about the man that had kept her and drunk her blood, The Demon would surely hear, and it wouldn’t take long for him to work out that Jim was the one that had done it.

When he had been exorcised, Jim and Stephen had been barely alive. If this demon knew where she’d been held, she would send The Demon here and Jim would surely be killed. Sam didn’t want him to die. He was horrified by what he had done to this woman and the fact he was still drinking blood, but that didn’t deserve a death sentence.

“How long have you been here?” he asked in lieu of answering her question.

“Months, probably years. He didn’t give me a calendar and I can’t tracks days down here in the dark. I was grabbed in Chicago, March 1985. What’s the date?”

Sam took an involuntary step back and felt the color drain from his face.

She had been here for twenty years. Jim had held her prisoner all that time, drunk her blood, kept her in the dark. Did even a demon deserve that?

Her eyes widened. “How long has it been?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam said.

“Doesn’t matter! I’ve been kept prisoner here like some kind of animal by that… vampire… and you’re not even going to tell me how long it’s been?” She sneered at him. “Fine. Don’t tell me. Do your thing and exorcise me.”

Sam frowned. “You want to go back to Hell?”

She laughed harshly. “Hell is nothing compared to this. I _want_ to go back or die. Since nothing can kill me, the best I can have is the Pit. Send me back. You know how. You’re a hunter, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t hesitate over the question as he knew that was what he was now. When he had walked into the farmhouse and started to train his powers on the demon, that was him shedding the last vestiges of his civilian life. He was part of a war, a soldier, and he was on the winning side. He was a true hunter now.

“Then do what you do and get me out of here.”

Sam bit his lip. He wanted to do it, to free the woman she was possessing. A part of him even wanted to save the demon from this horrific fate, though he hated himself for wanting it. But Jim…

“Fine,” she snapped. “Don’t do it for me! Do it for Ruby.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Ruby?”

The demon didn’t answer. Something strange was happening to her. She grimaced and then the eyes faded from black to green and her face crumpled with pain. She staggered back from him, coming to a stop as she hit the far edge of the trap. She held up her hands and said, “Please, don’t hurt me.”

As her eyes filled with tears, Sam realized this wasn’t the demon anymore. It was the woman she was possessing.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. “I’m here to help.” He swallowed hard. “Is your name Ruby?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “Ruby Galway.”

“And do you know…” Sam took a deep breath before asking the question that would confirm or refute his horrifying suspicion. “Do you know Clark?”

She rushed forward, colliding with the edge of the trap and staggering back. “Clark! Do you know Clark? Is he alive? He was bleeding so much, and I was trying to help, but the smoke came and…” She began to sob, her eyes imploring him for an answer.

Sam stared at her, nausea rolling in his stomach.

Clark had never found Ruby because she’d been here. He’d spent over twenty years looking for the demon that stole his fiancé, and he’d never had a chance at finding it, or Ruby herself, as she’d been a prisoner here. His friend had spent two decades trying to avenge a woman that wasn’t dead.

“Clark is alive,” he said softly.

Her hands flew to her face. “He is! Oh, thank god.”

“He’s alive and he’s fine,” Sam said. “He’s… He’s been looking for you.”

She pressed a hand to her heart. “He must be so worried. I think I’ve been here months. I keep missing time. Sometimes I am here. Sometimes I am just lost.”

Sam felt tears prickle at his eyes. “I’m going to get you out of here, Ruby,” he said. “You just need to be brave a little longer. Can you do that?”

“Can’t you get me out now?” she asked. “Please. I just want to go. I want to find Clark.”

A tear slipped down Sam’s cheek. “Clark is coming, I promise. Just rest a while. I’ll bring him to you.”

She nodded, her eyes spilling tears down her filthy cheeks, and said, “Thank you. Thank you so much. Clark will…”

“Christo!” Sam said harshly.

Her eyes turned black and Sam saw the awareness of the demon in her face again.

“You know _Clark_ ,” she said gleefully. “I don’t believe it. I didn’t think he’d live after what I did to him. How did you meet?”

Sam glared at her. “I will do one thing you want; I will exorcise you, but you will do something for me first. You will leave Ruby alone. If you have any control over it, you will let her be lost until Clark gets here.”

She frowned. “Why do you need Clark?”

“Because he has spent every moment since you took Ruby looking for you, and he gets to be the one that sends you back to Hell. But before he does that, if he wants me to, I am going to hurt you.”

She snorted. “You really think you can?”

Sam smiled cruelly. “I know I can.”

He turned and walked up the stairs and out into the cool night air. His heart was racing and his mind spinning over what he had seen and what had happened. He knew what he needed to do next, and he was ready now.

It might cost Jim’s life to exorcise the demon that had Ruby, but Sam could live with that if it meant Ruby would be free, if Clark could have the woman he loved again.

He closed the doors to the cellar and hit the speed dial for Clark. It was answered after only a moment and Clark sounded wide awake and cheerful. “Sammy, to what do I owe the late call? Nightmare?”

“No,” Sam said, pleased that his voice remained steady. “I’ve found Ruby…”


	19. Chapter 19

Sam was standing outside the open cellar doors, waiting for the sound of Clark’s truck to portend his arrival.

It was a cold night and he was only wearing sweats and a hoodie, his sockless feet in sneakers, but he didn’t want to go back into the house to get a coat. Though Jim was probably sleeping, and Ruby was almost certainly locked away inside the demon again, he felt that he had to stay close to protect her.

He stamped his feet to warm them and then froze as he heard the front door open and Jim’s voice calling his name. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do, to go into the cellar and avoid facing the man he wasn’t sure he could see without attacking, or to stand and face him. The thought of going back into that place with that pathetic and abused demon was abhorrent and that made the decision for him.

“I’m here.”

Jim jogged around the house and then skidded to a halt as he saw Sam standing in front of the open cellar doors with the light pouring from within. His face drained of color, becoming ghostly in the moonlight, and his hands flew up in front of him as if warding off a blow.

“Sam…” he said weakly.

Sam’s jaw tightened and he spoke between his teeth. “You’re a monster.”

“No! Let me explain. You will understand if I do, I promise.” He walked toward Sam and stopped just out of range of his ability to swing a fist.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “Talk.”

Jim took a deep breath and said, “It’s only a demon, Sam, and I…”

Sam stepped into his space and punched him so hard that he collapsed back onto the ground and spat blood.

“It’s not just a demon!” Sam shouted. “It’s a person being possessed, too. She had a family, she had people she loved and that loved her. She was going to get married. She was loved and missed!”

Jim didn’t ask how he knew so much, he just babbled on with his defense as he scrambled to his feet. “But that person was already doomed. I wasn’t the one that hurt her. I didn’t possess her.”

“No, you didn’t possess her. You just trapped her in the cellar for twenty years! You drank her blood!”

“I had to. It was the only way. It made me strong enough to hunt. I saved lives because of it.”

Sam’s hands fisted and he wanted to throw another punch.

Jim perhaps saw the danger in him as he backed away and raised his hands again.

“My family save lives,” Sam said. “And they do it without any kind of special powers. You didn’t need the blood. You weren’t using your powers. Any demon would have recognized what you were doing, and Azazel would have heard about it. Any demons you faced—apart from that poor soul in the cellar—were exorcised with Latin. You were thinking of no one but yourself and your addiction.”

“I didn’t want this,” Jim said. “I was an innocent like you. It was done to me, to us. I was infected when I was a baby and then I was dragged away from everything I knew, trapped in that town, and fed the blood. I didn’t choose any of this. The addiction wasn’t my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Sam agreed. “It was done to you, you went through hell, but going back to it was your fault. You were clean when you came out of that hospital. There was no reason for you to ever touch the blood again, but you did. You have been drinking it for twenty years because you wanted to.”

Jim’s face formed into a look of defiance that made Sam’s blood rage through his veins.

“Stopping would have killed me!”

“Then you should have died!” Sam bellowed. “At least you would have died human!”

Jim laughed, a strange mocking sound. “I’m not human, Sam, and neither are you. What happened to us as babies changed us. We’re both so much more than human. We’re freaks! We’re cursed. We have nothing good left for us now.”

Sam shoved his shoulders, knocking him down again and bowed over him. “I’m human! I have my family and friends. They’re all the good I need.”

Jim’s lip trembled and Sam saw how pathetic he really was.

He wasn’t the hunter, the dangerous man that had almost scared Sam. He wasn’t the good man Sam always believed he was, the kind and gentle person. He was a junkie that had turned himself into a monster and had destroyed a woman’s life. He could have exorcised her, let Ruby go home, but he had trapped her and used her as blood bag.

“You went through hell,” Sam said again. “I know that. But you were freed from it and you were clean. You made a choice to go back to the blood, and that’s what’s made you a monster. The hell you put Ruby through was so much worse than yours.” 

“I had no choice,” Jim whined. “It was done to me.”

Sam turned away. “You did this to yourself and to her.”

“I won’t let you take her.”

Sam spun around again and saw that Jim was on his feet. He looked angry now, and also scared. He was seeing that the access to his drug was going away and he was terrified of it.

“I have already called him,” Sam said. “The woman you have was in love with a man. He’s my friend, a hunter, a real one not a monster like you. He’s coming to save her. You need to be gone before he gets here, or he will kill you. It’s time to run, Jim. When that demon gets to Hell, she’s going to tell them all what she’d seen, the man that drank her blood, and Azazel is going to find you.”

Jim staggered back. “No, Sam, please. You can’t do that to me. You owe me. I will stop drinking the blood. I will kill the demon. You know I can. She will be at peace and she will not tell anyone about you or me. We’ll be safe.”

Sam laughed. “The fact you think I will let you do that after what I told you means that you never learned a thing about me and just how different we are.”

Jim tried to shove past him to the cellar, either to take another hit or to kill, Sam didn’t know, but he wasn’t letting him do either. He flung out a hand and slammed him with power, sending Jim flying back to hit the side of his house, two dozen feet away. Despite the distance, he hit hard, and his head made a sick cracking sound that Sam felt momentary regret for until he heard the sound of an engine approaching.

Sam looked around and saw the truck skidding to a stop and Clark jumping out and flying at Sam.

He didn’t pay the man pinned to the wall a moment’s attention; he just ran at Sam, his eyes wild and his breaths coming quick. “Where is she?”

Sam held out a hand. “You need to see first. Look.”

Clark grabbed his hand and clutched it between both of his own and then his eyes became distant as he saw what Sam had seen through the medium of his gift. He dropped Sam’s hand with a gasp and ran into the cellar and down the steps without a word.

Sam dropped his hold on Jim and followed him down.

Clark was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes wide and breaths coming fast as his stare fixed on the demon in the trap, the demon wearing the face of the woman he loved with black eyes.

Sam stepped down beside him and placed a hand on his arm, feeling the solidness of his bunched muscles.

“It’s okay,” he murmured.

Clark nodded stiffly.

“Clark!” the demon said, her voice confused. “You’ve changed.”

“You have no idea,” Clark growled.

“How long has it been?” the demon asked.

Clark took a measured step forward. “Twenty-two years.”

The demon flinched but her voice was steady as she said, “Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess. What have you been up to?”

“Hunting you,” Clark said, taking another step forward.

“And now that you’ve found me, what are you going to do? Can I expect a one-way ticket downstairs?” She didn’t even attempt to conceal her eagerness. She wanted this more than anything.

“I am going to send you to Hell,” Clark said.

“Great. Go ahead.”

Sam moved with him closer to the trap, standing close at his side and brushing his arm against Clark’s, while he opened his mouth and then faltered.

Sam thought he understood what Clark was struggling with. He wanted the demon out, the woman he loved back, but he had spent over twenty years hunting it with a view to causing it serious pain for what it had done to him and Ruby. He could hurt it now, but that would slow his reunion with Ruby, leave her trapped inside even longer. Sam couldn’t even begin to understand how torn he must feel.

As Sam had known it would, his need for Ruby won out. Clark stepped close to the edge of the trap and said, “I will find you again after this, and I will make you pay. The moment you drag yourself out of Hell, I am going to be waiting for you and you will suffer.”

The demon laughed. “Sure. You’ll still be alive by the time I get out.”

Clark nodded. “I will.”

Sam brushed his arm again and said, “Do you want me to do it?”

“No. It’s my job.” Clark fixed his eyes on the demon and began. _“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”_

The demon beamed and lifted her face as if basking in sunlight. Everything she had hoped for was happening at last, and her joy was obvious.

Clark continued the exorcism, moving to the very edge of the trap as he finished, _“Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!”_

The demon’s head flew back, and smoke poured from her mouth. Sam’s eyes followed its path into the air and then down through the floor, but Clark’s attention was wholly on Ruby.

As the last of the demon left her, she collapsed, and Clark caught her in his arms and lifted her against his chest.

She stirred and her breaths came in a gasp as she said, “Clark?”

“I’m here, baby,” he said in a gentler voice that Sam had never heard him use before. “I’ve got you.”

He turned and carried her up the stairs and outside, not even seeming to see Sam as he passed. Sam followed them up the stairs and across the grass into Jim’s neat garden. Jim was gone but, whether he’d fled or was hiding in the house, Sam didn’t know or care.

Clark set Ruby down on the grass among the flowerbeds and cradled her in his lap.

“What happened to you?” Ruby asked. “You look so old. How long has it been? How long was I—”

Clark stopped her words with a kiss and whispered. “It doesn’t matter now. I’ve got you.”

She nodded weakly and smiled. “I missed you so much.”

Clark drew a shaky breath. “I missed you, too. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

Clark began to cry, heaving sobs that shook him and Ruby both, and he pressed kisses to her face as she soothed him with gentle words. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you, too.”

Sam noticed that her voice was weak, and when he looked, he saw her lips were tinged blue. Clark seemed to notice at the same time as he lifted his face and said, “Sam, call an ambulance.”

Sam already had his phone in his hand, but Ruby’s voice stopped him dialing. “No,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

“You’re hurt,” Clark said, his voice a moan.

She stroked his cheek. “I’m dying, baby.”

“No!”

She wiped the fresh tears the slipped from his eyes and said, “Yes. I can feel it. But it’s okay.”

“You can’t leave me,” Clark sobbed.

“I don’t want to, but it’s going to happen, and I don’t want people hurting me by trying to help.” She looked up at Sam. “Please, don’t call them.”

Sam hesitated and lowered his phone when Clark nodded and said, “Okay. No one will hurt you.”

Ruby relaxed and rested her head against Clark’s shoulder, looking up at the sky. “Stars. Look at them all. I haven’t seen them in so long.”

Clark drew a shaky breath. “I know.”

“Do you remember the night we named them?” she asked.

Clark made a choking sound. “You named them all Clark.”

“I did, and you named them Ruby, but you saved two, didn’t you?”

“For our children when they came,” Clark said, his voice breaking. “We were going to have two.”

She laughed weakly. “You always knew what you wanted.” She drew in a breath and made a pained sound that Clark kissed away and soothed.

She looked up at Sam and said, “You have to stop him.”

“Stop who, baby?” Clark asked.

“You,” she said. “You can’t find the man that did this. I saw his face sometimes. I know what he did to us. I felt it. You can’t hurt him; you can’t kill him. I can see it in your eyes. Don’t be a murderer because of me.”

Clark moaned. “I’ve hurt so many people, Ruby, I changed so much after I lost you.”

“I know, I can see that, too, but that doesn’t matter. You can’t kill him. Not in my name. I don’t want my legacy to be murder. I want it to be love.”

“Love,” Clark said, his voice hitching.

Ruby nodded and her eyes drifted closed before opening slowly and with what seemed like a lot of effort.

Sam knew she was fading, and he stepped away, wiping at his face to clear it of the tears of pain for his friend that were falling.

It was such a waste, what was happening behind him.

Sam’s whole life had changed when he lost Jessica and then the changes had snowballed when his powers presented properly and his place in The Demon’s plan was revealed. But there were people to pick him up again and hold him steady. Clark hadn’t had that and now he was losing the one person that could have healed him.

Sam knew this could either be the saving of the man Clark had once been or the death of the final vestige of it.

He could make it out of this with some part of himself intact, take a different view of life with Ruby’s requested legacy, or he could lose himself completely and what he had kept of the man Ruby had first loved.

Sam wondered if Clark would let him help him to cling to the former or want him to embrace the latter alongside him. 

One thing he was sure of was that he would have a place in whatever choice Clark made.

A howl of pain came from behind him and Sam turned to see that Ruby’s chest had stilled and her eyes slid closed. Clark’s head was thrown back and he was screaming his pain to the sky. As Sam watched, Clark buried his face against her neck and began to sob, his entire body heaving.

Sam walked back to him and knelt down, placing his hand on Clark’s shoulder and saying, “I’m so sorry.”

Clark didn’t reply, he was still letting his pain, but Sam felt him leaning into his touch and he thought all might not be lost.

“Sam?”

The voice came from behind them, and they both turned to see Jim standing a dozen feet away. He was pale and his lip was swollen and bloody from where Sam had punched him. Sam didn’t know why he had come, what he was hoping to gain, but as the feral roar broke from Clark, Sam knew he was going to regret coming.

Clark laid Ruby down and got smoothly to his feet, advancing on Jim with his hands fisted.

Sam knew a moment of indecision—should he let Clark have this or obey Ruby’s last wishes?—but his body reacted automatically, raising him to his feet and putting a hand on Clark’s shoulder as Clark threw the first punch.

Jim staggered back and placed a hand to his jaw where a red welt had appeared. “Let me explain,” he said hoarsely. 

“I will kill you,” Clark said, a statement not a threat.

Jim held up his hand, but Clark ignored the defensive gesture and flew at him. His fists slammed into Jim over and over, landing blows on his face and chest, and when Jim fell, he began to kick him.

Sam grabbed Clark and pulled him away, but Clark struggled, and his grip slipped. He landed two more blows on Jim’s gut before Sam was able to haul him away. He shoved Clark against the wall and held him pinned with his hands on his heaving chest.

“Not this, Clark,” he said. “Ruby didn’t want it.”

“He killed her!” Clark shouted. “He took all that blood for all that time. She didn’t stand a chance.”

“I know,” Sam said, his voice breaking as he thought of the woman that lay dead behind them. “And he will die for it, but not by you.”

Clark stopped struggling and frowned. “You’re going to kill him?”

“No. The Demon will do it. That demon is back in hell now and she’ll tell them all about the man that trapped her and drank her blood. Azazel will find out it was him and he’ll make him pay. You’re not a murderer, you never killed the meatsuits, you set them free. If you do this, you’ll break Ruby’s heart.”

“Her heart has stopped!” Clark growled.

“I know,” Sam said miserably. “But when you see her again, she’ll know.”

Clark opened his mouth to reply but Sam rushed on.

“Heaven, Clark. I know you don’t believe, but I do. When you see her, you need to be able to look her in the eye without shame. Let The Demon kill him. He can make it so much worse than either of us can.”

Clark stared at him and drew a breath through his nose. “Yeah. Worse. Okay.”

Sam searched him for a sign of a lie, checked his aura, but all he saw was blue so dark it was almost black that Sam knew was his extreme pain. There was no muddy pink of deceit.

He released him and Clark staggered back to Ruby and knelt beside her. Sam went to Jim and looked down at him. He was struggling for breath and his face was swollen and darkening with bruises. Sam thought for a moment Clark might have killed him after all, but when Jim’s eyes opened, they were burning with life.

“You were attacked by a robber,” Sam said, kneeling down and holding Jim’s swollen chin tight so he couldn’t turn away. “They were masked so you didn’t see who they were. I will call you an ambulance when Clark is gone. You can run and hide or stay and face your fate; I don’t care which. You will _never_ tell anyone what happened here though, do you understand?”

Jim’s chin jerked in his hand as he tried to nod.

Sam pushed it to the side and got to his feet. He looked back at Clark who was cradling Ruby to his chest again and then walked into the house. He went to the living room where there was a blue handmade blanket covering the back of the couch. As little as he wanted Ruby to be touched by anything Jim owned, it was all he had on offer. He picked it up and carried it outside to Clark.

“Here,” he said.

Clark took it and wrapped it around her body, tucking it under her chin and then stood and lifted her into his arms.

“Where are you going to take her?” he asked.

“There’s a place in Michigan we liked to go camping,” he said. “By a lake. I’ll bury her there.”

“Do you want me to come?”

Clark shook his head. “No. Stay here and make sure that animal is picked up. I want him to get the help he needs so he lives. I want him ready when The Demon comes for him.”

Sam nodded. “I’m so sorry, Clark.”

Clark stared at him for a moment and then said, “I’ll come back for you. You and me, we’re going to find that bastard that’s got your friend Brady and then, when that one is back in Hell, we’re going to find the demon that killed Jessica, too.” His eyes hardened. “I don’t get my revenge, but we’re getting you yours. Understand?”

Sam nodded again. “I’ll be ready for you when you call.”

“Good,” Clark glanced down at the woman in his arms and then walked away, cradling her against him, to his truck.

Sam watched him go and then went to the cellar. He would extinguish the light and padlock the door. Hopefully, no one else would ever step into that place of so much pain and misery again.

It was and always would be cursed.


	20. Chapter 20

Mary set down her coffee with a shaking hand and stared at her youngest son as he finished his tale of Ruby’s death and Clark’s heartbreak then took a deep breath. She had no words, she was in shock, but she could see Sam needed something, some end to his tale, and she tried to oblige.

“Are you okay, honey?”

Sam sighed softly. “I’m not the one that lost everything.”

“No,” Bobby agreed, “But you saw it happen.”

Sam massaged his red and swollen knuckles. “It was rough.”

“And it was really Jim?” Dean asked. “He wasn’t possessed or a shapeshifter or something?”

“It was him,” Sam said. “I didn’t even need to check to know until the very end. When I was waiting for the ambulance, I checked, I wanted to see what he was feeling. He was black—hurting and ruthless. He was sick and twisted, but it was him. He’s been living a double life all this time, maybe a triple life. He had the face he showed us and his church, the good man, as well as the dangerous hunter that had lived through Mount Hammond and was able to train me, and he was the junkie.”

“And she was really there twenty years?” Dean asked.

Mary could tell he didn’t want to believe it. He had always liked Jim, thought of him as a good man. He’d trusted him—they all had—to take care of Sam when he was in pain. That trust had been misplaced; they’d delivered him to a monster.

Mary thanked God that Sam hadn’t been hurt by him. She could tell from Sam’s knuckles that it had become a fight, though Sam hadn’t said it, but she could see no other sign of injury.

“Yeah, twenty years,” Sam said. “He grabbed the demon a couple years after she took Ruby and attacked Clark.”

Dean blew out a heavy breath. “That poor woman. And poor Clark.”

“He’s in a world of pain,” Sam said heavily.

“How’s Jim doing now?” Bobby asked. “Physically, I mean.”

Sam shrugged. “I left him at the hospital when Mae arrived. He was heading into surgery. He’s got a ruptured spleen, but they were seeing more blood than they could account for so there’s probably something else going on.”

Mary gave him an assessing look. She wondered if those other injuries had come from him or Clark. He’d said Clark had attacked him, but he obviously had landed at least one blow. She didn’t’ want to think of her gentle son doing something like that to a person, but she could understand the emotion behind it.

“I just hope he makes it through long enough to really suffer,” Sam finished.

Bobby flinched and Mary knew he was thinking along the same lines as her: this didn’t sound like the Sam they’d always known. 

“You want him to suffer?” Dean asked cautiously.

Sam nodded and fixed his eyes on his hands where they were fisted on the tabletop. “If he does, he's going to go through withdrawal from the blood. He said it was bad after Mount Hammond, but that was after just weeks on the blood. It’s been years. It’s going to have a tight hold on him and coming off is going to be brutal.”

“Do you think he’ll die?” Dean asked, his tone measured but eyes betraying the shock he was feeling.

Sam’s voice was a growl. “I hope not. I want him alive long enough for The Demon to find him.” 

Mary stared at her son, seeing the difference her eyes hadn’t wanted to recognize before. This wasn’t just his anger talking. He had considered this. He was different. There was a hardness in him that had never been there before. Losing Jessica twice hadn’t managed to do this to him.

Hearing the truth of her deal and lies, finding his place in The Demon’s plans, not even embracing his power over demons: it had been Clark’s pain that had changed him from the man she’d known to this.

He was still her son, she could see that, but he was not the same man that she had sent to Jim’s a matter of weeks ago.

Everything he had seen and done, loved and lost, had cumulated into this change, and she hated it.

“Where’s Clark?” Bobby asked, and Mary could tell from his tone that he was just as disconcerted as her and wanted to move them away from Sam’s obvious hatred for Jim.

Sam sighed, softened, became himself as she had known him again. “He’s gone to bury Ruby. He said there was a place they used to like. He’s coming back though. He’s going to help with Brady and The Demon. After Jim is dead anyway. He’s agreed to let Azazel do it for him.”

“What if we find The Demon first?” Dean asked. “We’re not holding off so he can kill Jim. We’re killing him.”

Sam considered for a moment and then shrugged. “I guess we have to just hope The Demon is faster than us. And if he isn’t, I’m sure someone else will do it.”

“Not you!” Dean said, his voice fierce.

Sam looked at him a moment, his expression unreadable, and then shook his head. “No, not me. I’m not going to be a murderer for him. I’m sure some other demon will find him. When Azazel knows Jim is out there, he’s going to hunt him and send the others out to do it, too. He’ll want revenge for what Jim did.”

“But we’re not waiting,” Dean said, seeming to need Sam to say it himself. “Right?”

“No, we’re not waiting,” Sam said.

“Good, because this is your safety,” Dean said. “Revenge for Clark and Ruby isn’t worth risking that.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll need to wait. If Ruby knows where she was kept, and she might, they’ll know where to start looking. Jim will be in the hospital a while.” He huffed a laugh. “He might even be stupid enough to go back to the church after. He was stupid enough to think I’d understand what he did. He thought I’d get it because I was cursed, too.”

“You’re not cursed, Sam!” Mary said vehemently.

Sam waved away her words and said, “Mae said she’d keep me informed of how Jim’s doing since she thinks I care, but I don’t need to go back to Blue Earth. I exorcised the demon we were practicing on before I left and dropped the meatsuit off at the hospital. I never need to go back there. I’ve got Jim’s car, but if he does want it again, he can come get it.”

“He’ll not come here. He’ll hide,” Bobby said.

Sam nodded. “He’d be smarter to.”

“What about you?” Dean asked, his brow furrowed. “Do you want to hide? Because you can. We’ve got the Colt now and you’ve mastered your powers. We can keep you safe here until we find that yellow-eyed bastard and it’s time to kill him.”

Sam looked at him incredulously. “Hide? I’ve spent all this time mastering my powers, changing myself so I’d be safe and able to help stop The Demon. I’m not wasting that. When Clark is ready, I’ll go with him to do what we need to do in the meantime. Brady needs to be found and saved. I’m not cowering and hiding now. I’m going to be ready.”

Dean frowned and Mary gave him a small smile, knowing his unease as she felt it herself. She reached across the table and patted Sam’s hand.

“We’ll all come when Clark’s ready,” she said. “We’ll find Brady together.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think you can. Clark won’t want it.”

“Since when does he get to decide what we do?” Dean growled.

Sam ignored him. “I’ll go with Clark and you can focus on The Demon. When it’s time, we’ll fight together, but until then, it needs to just be the two of us.”

Dean’s wide eyes fixed on his brother and his mouth moved wordlessly. Sam looked away from him and pulled his hand out from under Mary’s. “I’m going to shower. I can still smell that damn cellar on me. I’ll get some sleep, too.”

He got to his feet and strode from the room with their eyes following him. Only when they could hear his footsteps on the creaking floorboards on the second floor did Bobby speak.

“I didn’t think I’d live to see that. I didn’t want to.”

“He’s not abandoning us for Clark,” Dean said, his face red with anger. “No way.”

“He’s not abandoning us,” Mary said. “He’s doing what he needs to do. And that’s not what Bobby meant, was it?”

Bobby shook his head. “No, I mean I didn’t want to see Sam as a hunter. It should never have been his fate. He was supposed to have a different life.”

“You think Sam’s a hunter?” Dean asked.

Mary answered for Bobby as she was sure their thoughts were in sync as she had seen it, too. “He is, Dean. He’s making a hunter’s choices. He’s taking care of the victim. In this, Clark is the victim, and what he needs is Sam, not all of us.”

She sighed. She was worried about her youngest son and what would happen to him with Clark, whether he’d be dragged into the darker side of hunting that Clark inhabited, but she also knew she couldn’t stop it. Sam _was_ a hunter now and she had to let him find his own place in that world.

It hurt her though. She didn’t feel that she had a choice at the time, she was trying to help her son, but now she thought she might have made a mistake letting Clark have such an influential part in their lives.

xXx

Sam was in the bedroom, tying his laces, when he felt the slightest disturbance and looked up to see Clark standing by the door. He wasn’t really there, it was his astral form, but Sam was just as relieved to see him as he would have been had Clark knocked on the door.

Apart from a few text messages saying he was working on something and would be in touch, he hadn’t heard from Clark since he’d driven away from Jim’s with the body of the woman he loved on the backseat.

Sam examined him carefully, wanting to find some gauge on how Clark was doing from his appearance, but he looked neutral. Sam wished he was really there so he could read his aura.

“It’s rude to stare, Sam,” Clark said.

Sam smiled slightly, relieved to see the version of Clark he was dealing with was familiar, and said, “Sorry. But you’re so pretty.”

Clark laughed. “I am, and my pretty self has found something you’re looking for. Come with me.”

Sam relaxed and felt himself withdrawing from his body and standing beside it in the bedroom. Clark was a more physical shape here, in the astral plane, and Sam saw he looked better than he’d expected. It was only his eyes that betrayed the pain he was in. His face was the same as it usually was when he was in a good mood.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Come find me,” Clark said and then disappeared.

Sam fixed Clark in his mind and felt himself being pulled towards him. He rushed over a landscape that moved so fast it blurred into greens and browns and then he was in a small kitchen that looked old and neglected. There were no pieces of furniture or utensils, but the stove and fridge were still there. The most striking feature of the room was the devil’s trap painted into the floor and man sitting bound to a chair in the middle of it. Sam was at his back, but he knew before he moved around to face him, that it was Brady.

“How did you find him?” he asked.

Clark grinned. “Did you forget what I can do? I sniffed him out. I saw his face when I had that vision of you being pulled out of the fire. I just had to match the face to the demon. It took a while, obviously, but luckily he didn’t stray far from home.”

The demon couldn’t see them as neither of them had settled themselves on the physical plane, but he seemed to sense something as he was looking around the room curiously, black eyes narrowed.

“Where is he?” Sam asked.

“California. San Jose. He was lurking in a dive bar.”

“Sounds about right,” Sam said scathingly. “Okay, I’m on my way.”

“Good. I’ll keep him on ice.”

“Don’t hurt him,” Sam said.

“I haven’t and I won’t, but I figured you might want to. If he was the shapeshifters’ facilitator and was mouthing off about The Demon’s plans, he might know some stuff that can help us.” He gave Sam an appraising look. “Worth spilling a little holy water on your friend to find out what he knows?”

The idea of hurting Brady, even though he would technically be unharmed, was not a pleasant one. But Clark was right: he might know something that could help them.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll fly to you so I’ll be faster.”

“I’ll text you the address,” Clark said.

Sam thanked him and allowed himself to be pulled back into his body. He was still alone in the bedroom, and he finished tying his laces and then stuffed a few changes of clothes into a bag and grabbed his wallet and ID from the dresser.

When he got downstairs, Bobby and Mary were washing dishes and Dean was sitting on the couch with a heavy book on his lap with what Sam thought was the Rituale Romanum on the open pages. They all turned to look at him as he came in, and Mary’s eyebrows rose as she saw the bag in his hand.

“Are you going away?” she asked.

“Clark came,” he said. “He’s found Brady in California. I’m going to meet him.”

Mary looked worried but she didn’t speak. Dean was the one that spoke up, as Sam had expected, and he sounded strained. “And you still don’t want us coming?”

“No,” Sam said. “We can handle it together. I’m going to get a flight so I can get there faster, but I’ll ride back with Clark. I’ll be gone four days tops.”

He didn’t think it would take that long to get the information they needed from the demon, not with Clark’s expertise, though he knew he couldn’t mention that part of the plan to them as they were already anxious about him going to a demon without them. If they knew he was going to join Clark in interrogating it, they would insist on coming.

“Okay then,” Bobby said, giving Dean a pointed look when Dean opened his mouth to answer. “I’ll give you a ride to the airport.”

Pleased that he was going to be able to go without further fuss, Sam thanked him and crossed the room to kiss his mother goodbye. She smiled at him as he stepped back and said, “Call us when you get there.”

“I will,” Sam said. “It’ll be fine.”

He followed Bobby to the door and then turned back as Dean said his name. “Yeah?”

Dean seemed to be struggling with something, but when he spoke, his tone was even. “Be careful.”

Sam nodded. “I always am.”

xXx

The airport was close enough to the address Clark had given him to get a cab to, and Sam asked to be dropped a couple of blocks away in case there was fallout from what they were doing. He didn’t want to be remembered.

He made his way back to the right street and saw Clark’s truck parked outside a house set away from the sidewalk. It had a for sale sign on the untended lawn, and Sam figured it had been empty a while.

He went to the door and knocked, waiting only a moment before Clark opened it and said, “I actually felt you coming. Those are some pretty mixed up emotions you’re putting out, Sam.”

Sam nodded. “This is a big moment.”

“It is,” Clark agreed. “Let's get it done. You want your friend back. I warn you though, he’s chatty.”

Sam had expected it, and he was braced for the demon’s reaction when he dropped his bag down by the door and walked into the kitchen.

The demon wore Brady’s face, had his familiar smile, but the eyes were wrong, even though they were the blue Sam knew now.

“Sam!” he said joyfully. “I hoped I’d get to see you. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Sam walked around until he was facing him. He crossed his arms over his chest and asked, “How long have you had been in him?”

The demon grinned. “Wow… it’s been a while. Mid-sophomore year actually. You remember that don’t you, Sammy? The drugs, the drinking, the girls… All the things you tried to save your friend from. That was all me.”

Sam had guessed as much and wasn’t surprised that the demon would trash Brady’s life the way he did, but he worried about the damage that might have been done to Brady in that time with the chemicals he’d pumped into his body. Even if the demon hadn’t intentionally trashed his body, the drugs might have.

Sam wanted his friend to be okay, he needed him to be, but he knew he had to prepare himself for the worst. Neither he nor Clark had done that with Ruby, and that had been a tragedy.

“Okay,” Clark said. “Now Sam’s here, we can get to work. We’ve got a few questions for you.”

“I’m sure you have,” the demon said. “And I’ve got a lot to say. I know I’m not making it out of this one a free man, no matter what I say, so I figure you need a little honesty. You need to ask yourself though, Sam, if you’re ready for it.”

“Nothing you can say will hurt me,” Sam said.

The demon raised an eyebrow. “Really? I doubt that. The Sam I knew was pretty sensitive, and when you hear about what I did to Jessica, you’re going to be shocked.”

“What did you do to her?” Sam asked.

Clark placed a hand on his arm and said, “Don’t engage, Sam. That’s not why we’re here. We’re getting what we need to know. Don’t play into its hands.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

The demon smiled gleefully. “But I have so much to say. Sam needs to know I was the one that—”

He cut off as Clark jerked up his hand and his mouth snapped shut.

“We need him talking if we’re going to find out what he knows,” Sam said. 

Clark stared at him a moment and then nodded. “Fine, but don’t engage. Get the water. I’ve filled the sink and blessed it, and I’ve got the tools on the counter.”

Sam saw a tin cup, turkey baster, and three boxes of salt beside the full sink and a rosary. He filled the cup with water and carried it to Clark who took it and held it over the demon’s head.

“Where’s Azazel?” he asked.

The demon’s mouth opened, and he stretched his jaw before saying gleefully. “I killed Jess! She roasted on the ceiling thanks to me. And she was so surprised when I—” Clark snapped his jaw shut again with a nudge of telekinesis.

Sam had frozen with horror, his lungs locked and not even his heart seeming to beat, but he didn’t allow his shock to make its place on his face.

He just nodded at Clark and said, “Let him talk. I can handle it.”

He couldn’t handle it, but he could hide it. If the demon was telling the truth, if he had killed Jessica, it was actually to their advantage. It was even closer in The Demon’s plans if he had been given an important task like that. Though the thought was horrible to Sam. Jessica would have been scared no matter who had killed her in that awful way, but if it had been Brady, their friend, she would have suffered even more.

Sam had to force it down and work though. This was more important than shielding himself from pain.

Clark tipped the water over the demon’s head and asked, “Where is Azazel?”

The demon howled with pain as the water smoked and sizzled but as it dripped down his face, he started to laugh. “And then we brought her back to you,” he said. “As a shapeshifter, sure, but you didn’t know that, did you, Sam? You actually thought you’d got some version of her back. The things she said about you. You disgusted her, always pawing at her and telling her how much you loved her. I wonder if the real Jessica felt the same way.”

Sam clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to punch the demon as he knew that would hurt his friend, too. He took the proffered cup from Clark and filled it with more water then carried it back to him.

“Where’s Azazel?” Clark asked, bringing the cup close to the demon’s face and dripping it down his cheeks.

“And Mom and Dean,” the demon said when its sounds of pain had faded. “They hated being stuck as Winchesters. They said your family was ridiculous. Everyone so worried about poor psychic Sammy, watching him change into a freak of nature because he had to. And the _real_ Mary, the things she thought about you and her deal. She wished she’d not made it. Ten years with your father weren’t worth being saddled with you and Dean for the rest of her life. Our shifter got it all out of her head.”

“It’s not true, Sam,” Clark said, filling the cup again and picking up the turkey baster.

“I know,” Sam said.

He did know. His mother loved him and Dean more than anything. Things had been rough for them since the fire, Sam had put them through a lot and it had been hard with everything else that happened, but that didn’t detract from the love they all felt for each other.

Clark filled the turkey baster and squirted it into the demon’s eye. The cries of pain were harrowing, and Sam had to remind himself that it wasn’t Brady that made them, it was just the demon, to cope.

“Where’s Azazel?” Clark asked.

“Wyoming!” the demon howled.

Sam and Clark exchanged a glance and Clark quickly filled the baster again. As the demon panted, he held it close to the corner of his right eye and said, “Where in Wyoming?”

“Don’t do it, please,” the demon begged. “I’ll tell you. Don’t do that again.”

Clark squirted the water and grinned as the demon screamed. “Fingers slipped,” he said. “What were you saying?”

“It’s a place called Fossil Butte,” the demon said. “There’s a cemetery there it likes to go to. It says it feels safe there. It’s his stronghold. That’s where you’ll find him. Now, Sam, kill me. I know you can. Jim could and he was teaching you.”

Sam sucked in a quick breath and his heart began to race. How could he have not seen it before?

He thought he was offering Jim up to Azazel when Clark exorcised Ruby, but Azazel should already have known. As soon as Mary and Dean had found out about Jim’s story, the information would have started its journey to the shapeshifters’ minds. The Demon would have known for months… So why hadn’t it come sooner?

“What’s wrong?” Clark asked.

“The shapeshifters,” Sam breathed and then raised his voice to speak to the demon. “Why hasn’t Azazel killed Jim yet? He’s known for months through the shapeshifters, so why hasn’t’ he come? Did you tell him?”

Clark made a sound of shock and then his face became stony and he looked away.

The demon chanced a nervous glance at the turkey baster that Clark was refilling and said, “I told him. He didn’t want to act yet.” He licked his lips. “Jim was bait. It wasn’t time for you yet, and when you had the Colt, he knew he needed to be even more careful. He is going to use Jim to draw you out and make you cooperate.”

Sam nodded. That worked in their favor. Whenever the call came from Jim, when he needed help, they would know that it was time for them to take the Colt to The Demon and end it.

Though he had no idea, his connection to Mary and Dean lost, Azazel had just given them the greatest advantage they could have asked for.

“I’ve told you everything,” the demon said. “Now you have to kill me.”

Sam snorted. “I’m not killing you.”

“You have to! Your friend is already dead. You know how many drugs I took with this body, He’s dead as soon as I smoke out. Kill me and I won’t come back for you when I get free.”

“You’d be stupid to come back for me,” Sam said mildly. “I will kill you if you do. And I don’t believe Brady is dead. I have more faith in my friend than that. I’m exorcising you so you can go back to Hell and tell your boss what you did. I’m pretty sure he’ll make you pay for what you told me.”

“No! Please! I’m begging you, Sam. Don’t do this!”

Sam narrowed his eyes and sought the true form of the demon within Brady’s body. He didn’t need to use Latin for this. It was better for him not to even. He had trained with demons with Jim, but he had only ever done one full exorcism on one with his powers and that had been the same demon he’d trained with. This would serve as more training.

He gripped the core of the demon and brought it up to the demon’s mouth. Instead of holding it there and letting it slide down again, Sam pulled it right out, the smoke spilling from Brady’s mouth and sinking to the floor.

When the last of it left him, when the demon was gone, Brady opened his eyes and then vomited down his front.

Sam rushed at him and said, “Get him out of these ropes, Clark.”

Clark used a knife from his pocket and cut the ropes away as Sam supported Brady’s head. He was conscious, but barely, and Sam was sure what he was seeing was an overdose in action.

When the last of the ropes were gone, Sam hefted Brady’s arm over his shoulder and said, “Help me, Clark. We’ve got to get him to a hospital.”

Clark took his other side and they carried him outside to the truck. Sam leaned him up against the side as Clark opened the door and then they eased him in and Sam slid in beside him, supporting Brady as he fought his way to consciousness.

“Sam,” he said weakly. “What’s happening?”

“You’re going to be fine,” Sam said. “We’re getting you to the hospital.”

Clark got in and started the engine. “We’re not far away,” he said. “I passed the hospital on my way here.” He glanced at Brady as he gunned the engine and reversed them off the drive. “Hang on, man.”

“The smoke,” Brady rasped. “Is it gone?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “It’s all over now.”

“Good,” Brady said, and then became heavier on Sam’s side as his breaths began to labor.

Clark snapped his fingers in front of Brady’s face and said, “Head’s up. You can make it out of this if you’re strong. We’re taking you to hospital and they’re going to get that poison out of you. It’s going to suck, but you can handle that, right?”

Brady nodded and whispered. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Clark said. “And when that’s over, you’re going to have a problem. It’s been a long time since the smoke came and you’re going to want to tell people about what happened. If you do that, you’re going to end up on some new drugs that won’t be nearly so much fun, and you’ll be booked into a padded room hotel. Tell them you don’t remember anything. You hit your head. Wipe it right back to before the smoke came and make that your story. It’s the only way. Try anything else, and it’s going to end badly. Got me?”

Brady nodded.

Clark steered them around a hard corner and said, “You’ll be okay as long as you do that.”

Sam gripped Brady’s hand. “You’re going to be fine, man.”

“Of course he is,” Clark said. “He’s strong, aren’t you, Brady?”

Brady nodded slightly, his breaths still labored, and Sam adjusted him so he could breathe easier. As he did it, he looked at Clark. The man he’d first met would never have given a victim a cover story and encouraged him like this. He’d once beaten a meatsuit so bad when exorcising that he’d been locked up. He was different now. Losing Ruby, not getting his revenge had changed him as Sam knew it would. But it wasn’t the dark change Sam had feared. He was a better man for his pain. 

Brady seemed to fall into a haze, though his eyes were still open, and Clark gave him a quick look before pulling onto a highway and speeding the truck.

“Wyoming, Sam. You think it was telling the truth?”

Sam nodded. “I think so.”

“Not Wyoming,” Brady breathed.

“What?” Sam said, shifting so he could get a good look at Brady. “What about Wyoming?”

“The smoke won’t go there,” he said. “I heard it sometimes when it was talking to the others. They don’t go to Wyoming.”

“Why not?” Clark asked.

“They can’t. There’s something there that they want, but they can’t get it. It’s a cemetery, a door I think, but it’s a trap.”

“A trap for us?” Sam asked.

Brady shook his head. “No, a trap for the smoke. I think…” He trailed off as his head tilted down and his eyes fell closed. 

Sam lifted his chin to keep his airway open and said, “Drive fast, Clark.”

Clark obeyed by his foot slamming down on the gas as steering them around an SUV.

Sam was confused and worried, but most of all he was scared for his friend who was waning beside him and wanted him to get to a hospital.

When he was taken care of, they would find out what he meant by a trap.


	21. Chapter 21

Mary looked up from the laptop as Dean stomped into the room. His face was lined with stress and Mary sighed and got to her feet. Before he could say anything, she pulled him into her arms and hugged him tightly.

He accepted her embrace for a moment before returning it, and she stroked his back before pulling away and saying, “No, I’ve not heard from him.”

Dean blew out a breath. “They’re taking their damn time.”

Mary understood his stress and felt the same, but she knew it would be better when Sam and Clark got back. Or, for Dean, when Sam was back. She wasn’t sure how he was going to react to Clark. He’d sympathized with him when Sam had told them the story of Ruby’s death, but then Sam had taken off with him and that had soured Dean.

“They were in Rapid City when they called. It’s going to take more than a couple hours to get here, even with Clark’s driving.”

Dean dropped down at the table in front of the laptop and peered at the screen. “Nothing helpful,” he muttered, his eyes scanning the map of lit dots that denoted demon signs. There was nothing bigger than usual.

“And nothing over that part of Wyoming,” she pointed out. “Which backs up what Brady said.”

“Yeah, when he was topped out from an overdose and trauma of being a demon’s meatsuit for months,” Dean said. “He might be wrong.”

“He said it again when he woke up,” Mary pointed out. “And Sam believes him.”

She was relieved to hear that Brady was going to be okay, and she understood why Sam had to stay with him until his family arrived, but she’d wished he could have come home.

It wasn’t until Sam had spoken to him and heard his story to his family that he didn’t remember anything of the last two years, the story Sam said Clark schooled him on, that he’d felt able to leave.

Brady was going to be taken to a treatment facility in Phoenix when he was discharged from hospital, and from there, he could start to piece his life together again. She knew nothing for him would ever be the same, but at least he had lived. She hadn’t wanted Sam to lose someone else he cared about the way Clark had Ruby.

“I think we should go there anyway,” Dean said. “Just to look around.”

“Brady said it was a trap.”

Dean glowered. “Yeah, a trap for the demons, whatever that means. The trap for us was supposed to be Jim, and that’s gone to hell. We should at least look into it.”

“We will,” Mary said. “Let Sam come home and have a few days peace and then we’ll all decide what to do together.”

Dean sighed. “Sure. Okay.” He pushed himself to his feet and said, “I’m going to work on the Shelby.”

“Come with me to the store,” Mary said. “We can get something special for dinner. Bobby should be back from seeing Rufus soon, too. We all need something good after everything that happened. A family dinner will be nice.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “A family dinner with Clark?”

Mary nodded. “He’s invited.” Seeing Dean’s anger, she rushed on. “He’s not family to me either, and I don’t like Sam taking off with him any more than you do, but you can’t deny it worked. He’s obviously important to Sam and he’s just lost the woman he loved and spent twenty-two years trying to avenge. He needs it.”

Dean snorted. “Sure. A family dinner is exactly what will help _Clark_.”

Mary patted his shoulder and said, “Come on. We can get steaks maybe.”

She understood how Dean felt about Clark, and she thought there was a measure of jealousy for him to cope with, too. Clark would never take Dean’s place in Sam’s life, but he was making his own place there and that would be hard for Dean to deal with.

Dean grabbed his jacket from the hook and pulled it on and strode out to the car. Relieved that he wasn’t putting up more of a fight, Mary grabbed her own jacket and followed him out to where he was standing by the Impala. She thought he might be soothed a little by driving what he affectionately called ‘his baby’.

She got in the passenger side beside Dean and settled in her seat as he started the engine and the stereo came to life, blasting a Metallica song. He seemed calmer as he turned the volume down and said, “Got to protect your hearing, Mom. You’re probably losing it already at your age.”

Mary slapped his arm and he grinned.

They drove out of the yard, weaving around the junkers and onto the main road where Dean sped up the pace and began to tap the wheel to the beat of the music. They were just passing the cornfields of the Marshall Farm where Sam and Dean had played in as kids with the Marshalls’ children when the radio died and the engine sputtered.

“What the…” Dean steered them to the side of the road and they both climbed out and went to the front of the car where Dean lifted the hood and peered at the engine.

“Do you see anything?” Mary asked.

“No, it’s not gas, I filled her up yesterday. Maybe the battery…” He trailed off and then stepped defensively in front of Mary as two people, a man and a woman, stepped out of the corn and walked towards them.

They would have been a strange sight, hiding in the corn as they had, even without the black eyes that denoted their demonic presence.

Mary grabbed her phone out of her pocket and went for the speed dial assigned to Bobby, but before she could press it, it was knocked out of her hand as Dean collapsed back against her, the impact of the male demon’s punch still rocking his head to the side.

She tried to catch him, but she was already under attack herself. The female was twisting her arms up behind her back and she felt a pinch in the side of her neck and then pressure as something was injected into her.

The lethargy swept through her and she collapsed, her eyes closing but consciousness lingering.

“Get them in the car,” the female said. “I don’t want some human spotting us and calling the cops. I’m not getting into a car chase with cargo as precious as this.”

Mary felt herself being hauled up and carried, her head hanging awkwardly over the demon’s elbow.

“You really think they’re precious?” a male voice asked.

“If they get the special one to us, then yeah, they really are.”

“Special…” Mary said, the word coming out indecipherable even to her own ears.

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t talk though. What mattered was what she knew. They were being taken to The Demon to lure Sam to him.

It was time, and they’d been taken out of play.

xXx

Sam let himself into Bobby’s kitchen and called, “Mom? Bobby?”

“Hey, Sam,” Bobby said, coming in from the hall and giving Sam a brief embrace. “Your mom and Dean are out. I got back about an hour ago and the Impala was gone. The fridge is pretty much bare though, so I’m guessing they’re on a grocery run.” He looked past Sam to Clark who had followed him into the room. “Clark. I’m really sorry about…”

Clark held up a hand and said, “Thanks, Singer. Appreciate it.” He walked around Sam and went to the cabinet where Bobby kept his liquor. He picked up a bottle of whiskey and carried it to the kitchen to get a glass. “How are things here?”

“I reckon I know as much as you,” Bobby said. “I’ve not been home. How’s your friend Brady, Sam?”

“He’ll be in the hospital a couple more days and then they’ll take him to Phoenix,” Sam said. “His Mom called to thank us—again—when we were on the road.”

Bobby nodded. “I imagine there’s a whole heaping of gratitude going to be coming your way for a while. She knows you saved him, even if she doesn’t know the full story.”

“Hopefully it’ll stay that way,” Clark said, taking a gulp of the whiskey he’d poured. “I think I’ll head to the motel and catch some sleep. Call me if anything changes.”

“Stay and have dinner,” Sam said.

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Family dinner?”

“No, just something that didn’t come out of a vending machine,” Sam said. “I’ll call Mom and let her know so she can make sure she gets enough.” When Clark looked doubtful, he went on with what he hoped would tempt him. “We can have steak. You’ve never had Dean’s peppercorn sauce. It’s pretty special.”

Bobby rubbed his stomach. “It sure is. Yep. You have to stay Clark. This is an experience no man should go without.”

Clark shrugged and sat down at the table. “Tell them to hurry then. I’ve got some drinking to catch up on when I get back to the motel.”

“Drink here,” Sam said. “I’ll give you a ride back.”

He knew he was being so obliging that Clark would realize something was wrong, but he wanted him to stick around a little longer. He thought Clark going to get drunk alone with nothing to distract him from his thoughts was a bad idea. He wanted to take care of him in whatever small way Clark would allow.

Clark eyed him for a moment then nodded and threw back his whiskey and held out the glass. “You better get me another if I’m staying.”

Sam took the glass and poured him another while dialing Mary’s number and lifting the phone to his ear. It rang right through to voicemail, which was unusual, but he knew the grocery store could get pretty loud if it was busy and she might not hear it. He dialed Dean’s number but that rang out, too.

He handed Clark’s his drink and said, “They’re not answering. I’m going to check in on them.”

“Sure,” Bobby said. “But you might not want to do your astral _appearing_ thing in the middle of Food City.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “Good point.”

He sat down at the table and took a breath to relax himself before lifting and drawing himself towards Mary. He expected a short trip across town to her, but the distance was much greater, and he knew before he stopped that something was very wrong.

He slowed outside a church he knew well and then sank down through the roof and saw something that made him recoil in horror. 

Mary and Dean were on the floor in front of the altar at which Jim preached. They were unconscious and Dean’s temple bore a dark bruise. Standing over them was a man and a woman, the woman had her blonde hair cut short in a pixie style that flicked around her face, and the man was handsome and dark-haired. They both had black eyes.

The sight of them was disturbing, worse when you saw their pose over Mary and Dean, but it was the man in the long coat that stood at the altar over another prone body that chilled his heart. The man on the floor was Jim, his arms and feet spread with huge nails driven through his wrists and feet to the wooden floor, and standing over him was the yellow-eyed demon.

Sam’s overwrought state stole his focus and he was ripped back to his body with a gasp. For a moment, he couldn’t move, though he could feel the urgency to do something, and then Clark said, “Oh, wow, what the hell did you see?” and Sam sprang up.

“The Demon has Mom and Dean,” he said. “They’re in Jim’s church. Dean looked like he'd been hit with something, and they’re both unconscious. There are two other demons with them” He sucked in a shaky breath. “We have to go. He’s there and he’s going to…” His voice rose to a shout. “We have to go!” 

“We’re going,” Clark said calmly. “Singer, get the Colt. Sam, take a breath. We’ve got a two-hour drive ahead and you’ve got to arrive with the energy left to hold that sucker. You have _got to_ keep it together or all this is going to hell. Understand?”

Sam drew a breath and nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

Clark squeezed his shoulder. “We’ve got the Colt. We’ve got you and me. If I can help you, I will. If not, I will do what I can for your mom and Dean while you do what you need to do. I can hold the other demons even if I can’t touch Azazel.” He shook him slightly. “Trust me, we can do this. Do you trust me?”

Sam stared into his eyes, seeing the determination there, and nodded. “Yes.”

“Good,” Clark said as Bobby ran into the room with the wooden box in his hands. “Let’s go.”

Sam followed him out and threw himself into the truck, his heart was pounding and his nerves firing so much he trembled, but in his mind he felt calm. They had been preparing for this for months.

The Demon had Mary and Dean, but they were going to save them.

Sam was ready. They all were.

It was time.

xXx

Dean stared into the eyes he hated more than anything in the world and tried to put his anger, loathing, and need to see the light in those eyes extinguished into his glare.

Ever since he had woken up in this place, his aching head fuzzy with drugs, he had been angry, but when that monster arrived, it had ratcheted up to levels he didn’t know he was capable of.

That thing had killed his father, dosed his brother with blood, had Jessica killed and now wanted Sam for some screwed up ‘destiny’ that Dean was terrified of. He wanted him dead, now, but he was also scared because to kill him Sam would have to come and that was what The Demon wanted.

He looked at his mother who was perched on the pew across the aisle from him and saw her eyes were fixed on the body on the floor. Jim’s death had been awful, horrifying, and Dean thought it was going to haunt his dreams for years to come.

They had merely started by crucifying him on the floor. It was when they started to cut into him that the real pain had begun for them all: Jim feeling it and them hearing his screams.

The final blow, the demon slowly shoving a candlestick through his ribs into his heart, had been a cruel blessing.

Dean had been angry with Jim, he’d hated what he had done, but no one should have suffered an end like that.

There was a second body by the doors. Mae, the woman who had been Jim’s housekeeper as long as Dean had known him, had arrived and the demon the other two called Meg had snapped her neck. That had been a pitiful end, a waste, as she had never done anything to deserve it. At least Jim had earned death to some minds, even if not the kind he’d had.

“Mom,” he whispered.

She looked at him and smiled. “I know. It’s going to be okay.”

The male demon they called Tom snorted. “You can’t seriously believe that. You can’t think for one second that the Colt is going to be enough against our father.”

“Hush, Tom,” Azazel said calmly. “The Colt will be enough to a fashion. That and the one that comes with it will pay for their freedom. I am a demon of my word, aren’t I, Mary? I made a deal and kept it. It’s unfortunate that poor John interrupted, though. You should have warned him.”

Mary gritted her teeth and glared at him. She hadn’t said a word to him or any of the demons. When Dean had raged and made his threats, she had soothed him and ignored the demons’ taunts. She was strong.

“Ahh,” Azazel said. “I think our boy has arrived.”

Dean heard it, too; the sound of an engine roaring towards them and then cutting off.

“Get them up,” Azazel said. “You know what to do.”

Tom dragged Dean to his feet and hauled him to stand beside Azazel. Dean struggled and then froze as Tom placed one hand on his chin and the other on the side of his neck, just as Meg had done to Mae before she snapped her neck.

On The Demon’s other side Meg had Mary in the same hold.

This was their defense. When he came, Sam would have to choose between saving them and killing The Demon.

Dean hoped he made the right choice.

“Places ladies and gentlemen,” Azazel said as the church doors flew open and Sam, Clark, and Bobby ran in. Bobby stood in the middle of them, the Colt in his hands, and Sam and Clark had their hands outstretched, ready to act.

“Stop!” Azazel shouted. “One wrong move, a touch of telekinesis, Meg and Tom will snap their necks.”

Sam froze, his face stricken, and Bobby’s hand holding the gun out dropped an inch. Clark looked from face to face, appraising the situation. 

“Good,” Azazel said. “Now, Mr. Singer, bring me the gun.”

“No!” Dean shouted. “Don’t do it! Don’t—” Tom torqued his head a little to the right, cutting off his words with the pain and threat.

Bobby was pale and his chest heaving, but he didn’t move forward.

Azazel chuckled and addressed Sam. “You know you can’t win without the Colt, and I know you can’t let them die. You haven’t drunk the blood so you can’t exorcise me. You could exorcize Meg and Tom, possibly, but it would cost you your mother and brother. I would finish the job for whichever of my children happens to fall.”

“Kill it, Bobby!” Dean shouted. “Do it!”

He loved his mother and didn’t want her to be hurt, but they’d had an understanding developed over years of hunting that there were things worth dying for. This, the death of The Demon, was worth it.

“Sam…” Bobby said, his eyes still fixed on the scene in front of him.

Sam didn’t answer and Dean shouted again. “Now, Bobby!”

Dean didn’t know whether he was going to actually do it, but the hand holding the gun twitched and his eyes narrowed and then it was flying out of his hand and Sam was shouting, “No!”

Azazel waved his hand and the Colt flew across the floor towards him. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. “It’s beautiful, really.”

“Let them go,” Sam growled. “You have what you want now.”

“I have half of what I want,” Azazel said. “I also want you, Sam. It’s time for you to come with me. I am offering you the chance to come willingly. Come with me without testing those powers and I’ll let your family live. I’ll even leave dear Clark alive. Fight me and they will die.”

Sam considered a moment and then nodded. “Okay.”

“Sam, no!” Mary gasped as Bobby reached for Sam.

Sam twitched his hand and Bobby flew backward, hitting the heavy wooden door hard.

“You sure, Sam?” Clark asked in a low voice.

Sam nodded without taking his eyes off of his family. “If you help me.”

“I will.”

Azazel smiled widely. “Meg, Tom, grab him.”

The demons dropped Mary and Dean and rushed towards Sam. They were almost at him when Sam said, “Now!” and Clark’s hands flew out. The two demons flew away from Sam, collided with the walls with sick cracks as their heads hit. They stood with their hands spread and arms pinned to the wall.

Azazel frowned. “Do you really care so little for your family, Sam? My shapeshifters thought different.”

“You’re not going to touch them,” Sam said, taking a step forward.

For a moment, Dean thought Sam was going to go with Azazel anyway, and he moaned his name, his leaden legs frozen with fear as his heart raced and tremors ripped through him, but Sam stopped and raised his hand.

“Sammy,” Clark said, his voice cautious.

“I’ve got it,” Sam growled. “Hold them.”

Azazel looked amused and then shocked as Sam fisted a hand and began to raise it slowly. It looked as though he was fighting a high wind, but slowly, millimeter by millimeter, his arm lifted and the demon clapped a hand to his mouth.

Dean’s fear-frozen legs unlocked and he ran towards Sam, Mary with him, but Sam didn’t even seem to see them or feel their hands on his shoulders when they reached him. He didn’t seem to hear them when they said his name either. His attention was wholly fixed on the demon.

“You can’t do this,” Azazel growled. “It will kill you.”

“No,” Sam said through his teeth. “It won’t.”

A trickle of blood trailed down his top lip and his face was almost white as it shook with strain, but Dean hardly noticed it. His attention was on The Demon who was clutching his chest as black smoke began to trickle from his mouth down to the floor.

“Father!” Meg cried.

“You’ve got it, Sam,” Clark said, encouragingly. “You can do it.”

Sam nodded, and with a cry of effort or pain, he yanked his arm up and a rush of smoke poured from the demon’s mouth and hung in the air for a moment before sinking down through the floor, leaving sparkling ashes on the polished floorboards. 

Sam’s arm dropped and he staggered back into Dean’s supporting arms. He held him up as Mary and pulled him into a hug that he didn’t have the energy to return.

“You did it!” Mary gasped. “You exorcised him.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed.

The two demons pinned to the wall threw back their heads, their necks straining against the pressure of Clark’s hold, and black smoke poured from them and out of the partially open door.

“Figures,” Clark said bitterly, walking around them and picking up the Colt.

Mary released Sam for a moment to yank Dean into the hug and he put his arms around them both and pulled them towards him. His mind was spinning with shock and joy.

The demon was back in Hell, and if Jim’s theory was right, they had two decades before it would come back. They had the Colt and time to prepare for it again. When it came, they would kill it.

It wasn’t all they wanted, The Demon dead, but they were all walking out of this alive and intact.

Sam pulled back and wiped at the blood on his face. “He’s gone.”

“He is,” Mary said joyfully. “You did it!”

“How do you feel?” Clark asked him.

Dean saw Sam without the filter of shock and relief for a moment, taking in the pale face and bloodshot eyes, the blood on his lip, the way he was still shaking slightly, and his heart skipped, “Sammy?”

Sam shrugged. “I could sleep for a week and I’d kill for a Tylenol, but otherwise I’m feeling pretty damn good.” He grinned. “He’s back in Hell and he’s not dragging his way out anytime soon. We did it.”

“I think we have you say _you_ did it,” Bobby said pointedly.

Sam shook his head and glanced at Clark. “No, it was definitely a team effort. But that’s it for now. We’ve got years to be ready, to watch for him, and when he comes, we can kill him.” A triumphant gleam shone in his eyes and he grinned.

Dean laughed softly, and patted Sam’s back, happy that his brother had done this for himself and come through still standing.

It could have ended in tragedy and yet, thanks to Sam, they’d all made it out. The demon would be back, but for now, they could relax.

It was over this time, and if there was a next time, they would be ready, and Azazel wouldn’t get off so lightly.

They would end him for good.


End file.
